


The Reluctant Bride

by Caffiend



Category: British Actor RPF, Crimson Peak (2015) RPF, Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial, Kong: Skull Island (2017) RPF, Only Lovers Left Alive (2013) RPF, The Night Manager (TV) RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Arms Dealing, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Rape, BDSM, Bondage, Cambridge, Caning, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasms, Jaguar villains, Juilliard School, London Symphony Orchestra, Multi, Murder, Musicians, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Sex workers, Smut, Solntsevskaya Bratva, Spanking, Suit Kink, Taking Virginity, The Corporation - Freeform, Unwilling Bride, elaborate weddings, kink clubs, professional musician, safe words, seperate bedrooms, sex dungeon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 138,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend
Summary: In which it is time for Thomas Pine, the terrifying Number Two in the Jaguar Corporation to take a wife. Their sinister new Russian allies insist that a "family man" is a more stable partner. In order to keep his powerful position in one of the largest criminal organizations in Europe, Thomas has done many terrible things. Unpleasant things. Nightmare-inducing things. But nothing more alarming than taking a furiously unwilling girl as his bride. And Lauren Marsh has no intention of making it easy on him.





	1. It's Time You Took A Wife, My Boy

**Author's Note:**

> The votes are in, and you, my beloved community wanted a new JagTom story over a sequel to "Lovely Doll." I admit that I've already written a one-shot to follow up "Doll" that will likely turn into a multi-chapter tale. But, I actually dreamt of the story here- an actual hot dream involving Tom! That's clearly a sign from all the Gods and Lesser Deities that this must be written. I promise I'll keep up on "Sing, Banshee" and "You Belong To Me, Now" if you're fond of those stories as well.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas is compelled to do that which is against his will. And everyone is going to pay for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The votes are in, and you, my beloved community wanted a new JagTom story over a sequel to "Lovely Doll." I admit that I've already written a one-shot to follow up "Doll" that will likely turn into a multi-chapter tale. But, I actually dreamt of the story here- an actual hot dream involving Tom! That's clearly a sign from all the Gods and Lesser Deities that this must be written. I promise I'll keep up on "Sing, Banshee" and "You Belong To Me, Now" if you're fond of those stories as well.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading.

"It's time you took a wife, my boy."

 

Whatever Thomas Pine had been expecting Number One to say, it was not that. Pine had risen to the second position in one of the most powerful crime organizations in Europe by anticipating every move from not only his rivals, but within the Corporation- Jaguar Holdings- as well. He'd thought, perhaps that the man seated across from him and enjoying an excellent glass of scotch would maybe compliment him on the flawless execution of a partnership with the terrifying Russian Solntsevskaya Bratva crime syndicate. Or gloat over the multi-million dollar agreement that would send the Corporation into Eastern Europe, extending their reach three times farther than their current chokehold in Great Britain and South America.

But... what the _hell_ was this nonsense?

One dark, elegant brow rose as Thomas eyed the urbanely smiling monster across from him. Ben Kingsley may look like everyone's favorite bald uncle, but he was a terrifying sociopath who took enormous pleasure in the suffering he caused for his many enemies and occasionally, his friends. There were few enough of them, better described as uneasy allies. And for Kingsley's wife? Thomas snorted silently. Number One had married a beautiful escort with superb social skills who was just aging out of the most lucrative portion of her career when she turned 30. She was happy enough to leapfrog into the position of Trophy Wife, though 10 years later it seemed Arabella Kingsley was a shaken, diminished version of her former self who just barely managed not to flinch every time her husband looked at her. But, she did deftly handle the many fundraisers and social engagements the Corporation used to keep strong ties to the most powerful in society, the excessively wealthy, politicians and the like.

Taking another swallow of the scotch and enjoying the warm burn it made sliding down his throat, Thomas shook his head. "I beg your pardon, Number One? Where on earth did that come from?"

Kingsley smiled at him in an avuncular fashion. "I was speaking with Ivan Kuznetsov, the head of the смерть Triad branch."

Thomas forced a smile, "I've negotiated mainly with Semion Mogilevich. What did Kuznetsov have to say?" What he wasn't saying to Number One, but was quite clear was that Pine had been dealing with the titular head of the Bratva organization, not one of his lieutenants.

But Number One was not the head of the Corporation without reason. "My dear boy. We will not see Mogilevich again for months, likely years. Unless, of course, the Corporation fucks up." He chuckled mirthlessly and took another sip of his drink. "Kuznetsov will be overseeing our co-interests. And he discussed his concerns about you tonight."

Feeling the heat rising from his expensive cotton dress shirt, Thomas took a deep breath. "Do enlighten me."

Knowing he had his arrogant Number Two's attention, Kingsley relaxed and crossed one leg over the other. "There's to be a rather large party in Moscow in June to celebrate the merger of our combined business interests. Have you been to a Bratva gathering before?"

Brow furrowed, Thomas shook his head. "We've always avoided such large gatherings for a reason."

"That's not how Bratva works," Number One scowled. "It is expected, which is to say it is mandatory. And we've worked too long to lose this now. You'll see that Russians are very fond of family. All the wives will be there, older sons. And we will be there with our wives."

Thomas was losing his patience, but he forced himself to chuckle lightly. "Did Number Three get married within the last... what? Twenty-four hours?"

Rising to fill his glass, Kingsley raised the heavy crystal decanter to Pine, who shook his head. It was clear they were in a bizarre negotiation and he'd prefer to keep a clear head. 

"No, Fassell did not marry Clara, but they are engaged, and the key players did see the ring on her finger at dinner. But they expect more from you, since you will be our point man on the Bratva project." One corner of his thin mouth turned up at Number Two's incredulous headshake. 

“You must be joking. How would being saddled with a wife make me a better business partner?”

Kingsley shrugged, seating himself again. “The Russians equate wife and family with stability. They are violently opposed to homosexuals, and if you’re an attractive man in your mid-thirties without a wife and children on the way, they’re going to question it. And you. And by extension, the Corporation.” His pleasant smile vanished. “And this, I cannot allow. If you do not wish to marry, I will have to assign this partnership to Number Three’s handling-” here, Thomas actually choked on his drink- “or take it over myself.”

Pine ran his thumb over the scotch on his lower lip. “You must be joking. This is my acquisition. I made the contact, I have handled the entire negotiation since. I do not intend to relinquish control to Fassell. Or you, Ben.”

The unspoken threat hung in the suddenly tense room, and finally Number One stirred. “I’d warned Kuznetsov you would react this way. He said you were welcome to contact Mogilevich himself, that he’d be expecting your call. I would strongly suggest making it a call to assure him of your imminent wedding.” With that, Kingsley finished his drink and left the boardroom, leaving Thomas to stare incredulously into the fireplace.

“What the bloody hell?” He hissed, slamming his glass down and reaching for the phone.

Had he’d been there, Kingsley would have taken enormous satisfaction in the look of stupefaction that spread across Number’s Two’s handsome face, which then transformed into utter fury. Calmly bidding the Bratva head a good evening in flawless Russian, Thomas pushed a button to end the conversation, then lobbed his glass across the room, gritting his teeth as it shattered into a satisfying spray of crystal.

 

It was only 2 weeks later when Thomas found himself furiously knotting a blue silk tie around his throat, yanking it just a bit tighter to make the sense of a noose tightening around his neck feel more than just symbolic. 'How did I end up in this mess?' he raged silently, 'How did that bastard Kingsley manipulate this without me even guessing?' Thomas knew perfectly well that there was more to this than just the Bratva's insistences of "home and family." Number One had been throwing women at him since he'd risen in rank in his mid twenties. Kingsley liked associates with family. It gave him the ultimate tool to ensure compliance. Wives, children, were valuable collateral. And Thomas's infuriating indifference to either was a problem for Kingsley. There was nothing to hold over his slippery vice-president's head. Finally dressed, Pine looked bitterly in the mirror. 

"This is a transaction. Like any other. Select the most viable candidate and get this over with. It will be like having a housekeeper with a larger list of duties." With that inspiring assurance, Pine got into his Jaguar- midnight blue this year- and roared off to St. Luke's. Handing his keys to the valet, he straightened his tie and glared at the beautiful building as if it had personally offended him. Entering the restored old church, he chuckled slightly, tapping the toe of one shining Louis Vuitton loafer on the entryway, half expecting to burst into flames. When his first step proved he was unscathed, Thomas strolled in, mildly surprised at his fanciful thought. "Must be deconsecrated," he murmured.

Jerwood Hall inside the building was exquisitely decorated with huge arrangements of spring flowers and expensively dressed men and women, chatting and laughing. Number One's gathering, which he macabrely labeled "Pine's Buy A Bride Bash" was doubling as a fundraiser for the London Symphony Orchestra, who'd supplied the talented string quartet playing on the riser in the center of the room. Accepting a drink from the closest bar, Pine took a sip, letting his polar blue eyes canvass the room. Kingsley and his wife had gathered a dozen or so young ladies who would fill all the requirements of being a Corporation wife. Good breeding, well-educated, beautiful, and capable, as he'd disgustingly leered, "of keeping their mouths shut about Corporation business and their legs open." The statement was so appalling that even Number One's wife stared at him, forgetting to laugh.

"Pine!" Sighing inwardly, Thomas turned and plastered a polite smile on his face as Number Three came towards him, hauling his fiancee along by her hand. "Good to see you! No date tonight?" Michael Fassell's slate grey eyes twinkled. The tall, handsome third in the Corporation knew perfectly well why his partner was dateless. "Eh, knowing your charm, I'm sure you'll be leaving with one. Or maybe three."

Clara giggled, "Never mind him, Thomas. Nice to see you." She would have liked to have kissed his cheek in greeting, but there was a nearly palpable barrier around him that clearly said touching would not be welcome. 

All the same, Thomas looked down at the cheerful redhead with a smile. "Clara darling. Are you ready to come to your senses and leave this fool for me?"

Fassell laughed a little too hard, "Now, Number Two. No pouting that I can find someone who adores me, even though that terrifying stare of yours sends sane women screaming."

"Don't you mind him," Clara scolded, "I know you enjoy your freedom. I'm just lucky Michael's ready to settle down." She went up on tiptoe to kiss her fiance's cheek, and Thomas smothered a grin, remembering there'd been a spray of blood right across the spot she'd kissed, just last week when Number Three had participated in an interrogation. Oh, if only sweet Clara knew what she was marrying into...

That was a good point, Thomas thought morosely, accepting another drink from the bartender. At least the "candidates" about to be thrown before him here knew exactly what he was. What the Corporation did. Not that he'd ever discuss even the most mundane detail of his work with a spouse, but at least he wouldn't have to make the effort to hide it. So, when he heard the oily, amused tone of Number One crowing, "Thomas, my boy! There's someone I'd like you to meet..." he turned and forced a less forbidding expression on to his beautiful face.

 

A nauseating two hours later, the ice-cold Number Two was moments away from drowning himself in the punch bowl. He knew Kingston feared and likely hated him. But surely no one could despise another human being enough to attempt to saddle them with this bevy of harpies.

Carlotta: Italian mafia, fire-engine red hair and a screeching laugh that sounded like a goose getting buggered.

Wendy: Terrified brunette and the daughter of one of their division heads. Nearly started crying when he looked at her.

Misha: An "administrative assistant" in one of the London-based Bratva outfits. She purred "Zdravstvuyte," and immediately cupped his genitals. She also husked something into his ear while licking it, when trying to decipher it later, Thomas gathered she was telling him she was "free of diseases."

And these were the three top candidates.

Tossing back his sixth drink, Thomas looked around the room, his face set and expressionless. The less ammunition he gave Number One, the better. But the bald-headed bastard would pay for this. His frigid gaze swept the room, landing idly on the string quartet, who were finishing their final number. After the scatter of appreciative applause, Kingsley's wife stepped up. "Thank you all for joining us tonight- these wonderful musicians are here as an example of the fresh blood being pumped into the London Symphony Orchestra. All under thirty. All in first seat positions with LSO this season. Your donations tonight will continue to help promising young students through scholarships to some of the best music schools around the world..." Turning to the four, Arabella Kingsley pointed to the young blonde, seated with her cello. "Lauren, dear! Come up for a moment, would you?"

With a shy smile, the girl gracefully set her instrument aside and stood. Thomas's thin mouth curled slightly to see her brush her hands against the full skirt of her black dress, clearly trying to dry her palms and leaving white resin marks against the dark velvet. 

"My dear, please introduce yourself and speak a bit about how the scholarship program helped you."

Forcing a smile, the girl nodded. "Hello, and thank you all for your kindness tonight. I'm Lauren Marsh, and I graduated from Juilliard School- that's in New York City- oh, you probably know it's in New York, you're music lovers, right?" She flushed a little under the ripple of laughter, chuckling a little herself. "I was very fortunate to be blessed with a scholarship courtesy of the LSO grants- funded by your generosity. The arts are fading in schools around the world with budget cuts. Most students struggle to attend a fine arts school, so the support from forward-thinking corporations like yours will save the arts."

Thomas was utterly still, glass half raised to his mouth as he watched the blonde girl blossom, her pale cheeks flush and her eyes sparkle- a peculiar shade- lavender? It must be the lights, he mused. 

"See, music is the one commonality that serves a global consciousness. It is the one sensory element that lights up all areas of the brain- you hear a song you love, and it brings you back to a particular moment in your life- you can feel where you were, smell and see your surroundings... _practically_ taste it..." There was something rapturous about her lovely voice that made Thomas's previously disinterested cock begin to stir and take notice. Arabella took another discreet step back from the mic. She knew a moneymaker when she heard one. And everyone was paying attention to the girl. 

"For instance, like... Bob Marley's protest song, 'Get Up, Stand Up,' it’s immortal! The song’s been embraced and re-imagined on every continent in the world- adapted slightly to blend with their musical style and instruments, but the song remains the same. One song, every nation on the planet. That's the power of music. And that's what your donations fund- a chance for communication and a powerful connection with anyone- everyone, really. So thank you for funding my dream and allowing me to find a home within the LSO. And I hope you'll do the same for the next generation of students." Stepping back from the mic, Lauren actually jumped a little when thunderous applause greeted her finish, everyone in the ballroom flush with the grandeur that a swipe of their credit card was saving the world. Looking around at the beaming faces, Thomas shook his head slightly. If only the girl knew she'd been speaking to members of one of the most brutal crime enterprises in Europe.

Putting his glass on a passing waiter's tray, Thomas ambled closer to the girl, talking in the corner near the exit with her three fellow musicians, who were clearly praising her efforts. The violinist, a pretty African-American girl gave her a hug. "Nice work! You think they might toss you a bonus for hiking the donations? I could use a loan."

Lauren laughed and shook her head. "I don't think it works that way, but I can still spot you a couple of bucks-"

"Pouuunds," drawled her friend in a terrible cockney imitation, "pounds here, dahling, and- wait." Squinting, the girl eyed a man crossing the ballroom. "Lauren, shit! Is that your _dad?"_

Thomas's dark brow rose as he watched Lauren stiffen. "Why would- what the hell! He's supposed to be in- Night, guys. I'm gone." With a slippery grace he appreciated, the girl disappeared.

Frowning, he turned back to look at the man who'd nearly reached the remaining three of the musicians, and a mild recognition stirred. 'Marsh... hmmm... ah. Frank Marsh. CEO of Atlantic Equities in New York. One of our under-performers.' "Under-performer" was a very bad designation in the Corporation. Very bad. As in, 'the management was about to be shot and fed to the alligators to dispose of any evidence' bad. But Thomas knew the man was wealthy. Extremely so. Yet his daughter worked through a school as rigorous as Juilliard on a LSO scholarship? 

"Now, why isn't Daddy dearest paying his angel's way through university?" Thomas murmured. Pulling out his cellphone, he texted a request to an associate with a dark smile on his face. 

"Now that's what I wanted to see!" Number One's heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder of his beautifully tailored jacket. Kingsley must be drunk, Thomas thought, even he wasn't foolish enough to touch someone as unapproachable as his second in command. "A smile, Pine! Does that mean one of the ladies here tonight has caught your interest?" He couldn't read the strange expression on the younger man's face, but it was almost... avaricious.

"Perhaps," Thomas finally answered. "Goodnight Ben. Arabella, darling." He bent to kiss the woman's cheek and was gone.

Number One's smile disappeared at he looked at his wife, still a little fluttery from the kiss. "Go find out which girl he was interested in." Arabella nodded anxiously and disappeared.

 

Meanwhile, Thomas didn’t drive home. The new sexual interest stirred by the pretty and mysterious Lauren had to be satisfied. The door he entered after parking his Jaguar was unremarkable. He strode through three separate check-in points before entering the sultry underground of London’s least-known kink club. It was not an establishment that catered to amateurs.

Hands in pockets, Thomas strolled through the series of rooms, each showcasing a particular- or peculiar- interest. Finally pausing beside a gleaming steel cage containing a naked young woman, he cocked his head thoughtfully. “My, my, darling. That looks extremely… confining.”

The caged girl’s breath hitched excitedly. She'd seen this man before- he was ridiculously hot. Tall, several inches over six feet and dark hair cut close to the scalp to control his curls. His body was always beautifully dressed but a little terrifying- he might be lean, but there was a ferocious sense of power in his broad shoulders, those thickly muscled arms and thighs. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut her and those eyes… god! She’d fuck him just for those eyes to look at her long enough to let her come. She knew a couple of the girls who’d been lucky enough to have a go with him. He was a lot to take, they said. But worth it.

“Darling. Are you paying attention?” His voice had gone cold, and the naked girl shivered.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Yes, Sir.”

Now he leaned closer, that rapacious gaze not helping her goosebumps at all. “If you promise to be a good girl, I will unlock this cage.”

"Yes Sir." This came out in a whisper, and she pressed herself against the barred door.

Pulling her from the cage, Thomas chuckled slightly as she groaned in relief. "Yes, won't it feel good to stretch all those cramped muscles?"

"I guess, Sir?" The nude girl followed him willingly into a small room off the main area, watching him shut and lock the door. The tall man circled her once, leaning in to run his nose along her jaw.

"What's your name, darling?"

"Tulip?"

Thomas chuckled as the answer came out in the form of a question. "Of course it is. Raise your arms, Tulip." She did as she was told, gasping a bit at how quickly he'd bound her wrists together and hooked them over her head, hoisting her a bit to raise her uncomfortably high, teetering on tiptoe. "There, isn't it nice to stretch after that uncomfortable cage?"

She answered breathlessly, trying on tiptoe to turn to him, "Yes, Sir. Thank you." It really wasn't. The pull of the rope was beginning to burn along her arms and back, but her pelvis was getting uncomfortably warm and taking precedence. 

"What are your safe words, Tulip?" She shivered again. God, that voice... deep and smooth, like it was pouring over her jagged nerves like warm honey. She would do anything to make that voice sound so sweet, keep purring in her ear, and- Tulip let out a shriek as one broad palm cracked harshly across her bare ass.

"Sorry! Sorry Sir! They're uh, 'Kardashian' for red-" Thomas rolled his eyes. "And- and for yellow Kayne!"

With a faint sigh, he pulled a thin, flexible cane out of the armoire in the room, laying it on the table in front of her where the girl could see it as he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "Very well, darling. Are you going to be my good girl?" He picked up the cane, slowly running it up her heaving stomach and very lightly tapping her breasts.

Tulip moistened her suddenly dry lips. "Yes, Sir."

Thomas leaned in close again, enjoying her shivering. "Very good. Let's begin."

By the time the dark and scary man had finishing caning her, Tulip was sobbing uncontrollably. She’d also come three times from his strong fingers inside her, stabbing deep while his thumb firmly circled her clit. Her breasts burned and her ass felt like he’d set it on fire, but the girl was begging for him.

“What do you need, Tulip?” His rough fingers were sliding up her sweaty skin, and she was stammering in her effort to get the words out.

“Please- please fu- AH!” He’d slapped her stinging ass for taking so long. “Can you please fuck me Sir!”

Suddenly, his arms were under her thighs and hoisting her against him, hard cock already sheathed in latex and probing for her center. Shrieking as Thomas plunged viciously inside her, Tulip kicked her legs, arching against the dark and scary man to take him deeper, even though the burn made her fiery ass feel like nothing but a love tap. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Pine began slamming in and out of her, nipping at her breasts and grabbing her generous buttocks with both hands, crudely pulling them apart as he plunged into her again, then again, going deeper each time until Tulip’s rapturous wailing grew louder. Finally feeling the pull at the base of his spine that told him he was close, Thomas deftly slicked his forefinger through the girl’s wet folds and slid the digit into her ass, appreciating her sudden stiffening, tightening her around him even more.

“You will come on three, or you will not come at all,” he managed between clenched teeth.

“One.” Her back arched as she screamed, feeling him spear so deep she could feel him against her cervix.

“Two.” Her sweating hands grappled to hold on to her bonds.

“Three.” Another finger plunged into her ass to join the first, and Tulip lost consciousness as she came, just as she was instructed.

 

After cleaning the sweaty and semi-conscious girl up and making sure she was relatively alert and functioning, Thomas patted her rosy bottom gently and left the club. Stripping to take a shower, he leaned over his laptop to type in a passcode. Reading the report compiled within the last hour, he smiled, pleased with his assistant’s thoroughness.

Typing an reply, Thomas wrote:

_Good work._

_Contact Miss Marsh and instruct her to meet me at the office tomorrow at 3pm. Tell her it is an interview to have her perform at my next event. Begin the usual surveillance._

_Pine_

 

Finally showered, he crawled into his sheets naked, putting a forearm across his forehead and looking out his window. Yes. She’d do just fine.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite readers from Russia sent me a very nice note questioning why I was using a Russian criminal organization like Bratva as the villains here. Actually, the REAL villains in this story are Thomas and the Corporation, but Bratva IS an organization that "values" family, and it seemed like a good vehicle to force Thomas to take a wife. I've used Eastern European villains before- such as in "This Is SO Not Going To Happen." But really, the Corporation is the evil group. And I sincerely hope no one will feel insulted or singled out by nationality. Thanks.


	2. The Job Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas interviews his prospective bride.

The pretty African-American musician Thomas had seen warning Lauren about her father’s unfortunate appearance the night before was, in fact, named Macie. And Macie was currently sipping a double espresso at a table in their favorite coffee house, waiting for Lauren to meet her for lunch. Seeing the blonde head of her friend entering the shop, she waved cheerfully, then her eye caught the face of the man trailing just a bit after Lauren. ‘Was he at the benefit last night?’ she thought, trying to remember. He was wearing a good suit, but his broken nose and the hard set to his jaw didn’t speak of the wealthy glitterati from the night before. As he seated himself a few tables away, ignoring her, Macie shrugged mentally and turned to smile at her friend.  

"I'm kind of relieved to see you! I was worried your asshole Dad caught up with you outside, or something." She leaned in, looking at Lauren's tired face. "Hey, you're dressed up! Well, for you this is dressed up anyway. You got a gig?"

Lauren sighed, "Don't call him that."

Macie snorted inelegantly. "What else am I supposed to call a guy who threw you out of the house at 17 because you wouldn't go to law school? Jesus! Every one of your music teachers called you a prodigy and your dad wants you to turn into a soulless corporate clone?"

"Well, fortunately I have wonderful friends who helped me," the blonde squeezed her hand and picked up a menu. "Let's not talk about him anymore. I need to be in a good mood, I have an interview this afternoon."

"Yeah? For what?"

Lauren wiggled a little, an excitable habit that she was trying to crush, since it made her look like an adolescent. "One of the vice presidents from the company that hosted the fundraiser last night wants to meet with me today about performing at an event. If we get in good with these guys, we could have a steady side income! I got the sense from Arabella- she's the president's wife- that they throw these kinds of parties all the time."

"If the man wants to take you home with him, I expect you to go." Macie's expression was completely serious, but she finally cracked up at the appalled expression on her friend's face. "Really? You won't take one for the team? Selfish bitch!"

Rolling her eyes, Lauren shook her head. "I swear to god, for half a second I thought you were serious."

Still giggling a little, Macie asked, "Now, which one was he?"

"I'm not sure?" Lauren hesitated, "I don't think he ever spoke to us but he's really tall, dark hair, gorgeous eyes? I looked him up on the Corporation website."

"Nice," her friend twisted a long black curl around her finger. "Maybe you _should_ go home with him- it's been a long, dry spell for you, honey." Laughing as Lauren covered her face, she asked, "What's his name?"

Swallowing the last gulp of her chai latte, the blonde answered "Thomas. Thomas Pine."

 

"Mr. Pine will see you now."

Lauren looked up from smoothing the front of her pale green linen dress. Why did she pick linen? It wrinkled the second she put it on. Standing, she smiled at the gorgeous brunette secretary, who looked her up and down like she was reeking of malt liquor and badgering her for a dollar. Sighing, she followed the impeccably suited woman into the interior office.

It was, of course, beautiful and awe-inspiring. Floor to ceiling windows in a corner office with expensive walnut paneling and a gigantic desk. Everything designed to strike terror into a humble visitor. Trying to not let her knees knock together, Lauren stiffened her spine and attempted to look confident.

The man behind the desk was the one she'd seen the night before- 'Oh god oh god oh god he's gorgeous!' Lauren chanted internally, trying to keep her composed expression.

"Miss Marsh? Thank you for coming on such short notice. I'm Thomas Pine." He _was_ beautiful, and tall, and his suit was surely bespoke, the girl thought dreamily before remembering her manners and taking his hand. Unlike most businessmen she'd met who worked with her father, he didn't try to crush her knuckles in his grip or try to keep her hand in his for an indencently long period of time. But when she looked into those glittering eyes, they were an icy blue, chilling her and making her pull her hand back a little quickly. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice and gestured for her to sit.

Lauren did, smiling politely and looking around the office.

"Something wrong?" Pine was leaning back in his chair, running his finger across his lower lip.

She shook her head, laughing a bit. “Oh, no. Sorry. I was just expecting your events planner to be here.”

Thomas nodded, fixing her with his warmest, most reassuring smile. It was traditionally the smile he gave to someone he was about to kill. Or worse. He did so enjoy the look of horror they invariably gave back. But this time, he actually intended to make the girl relax. He could tell she was already apprehensive. He’d been right last night about her eyes- they were lavender. Beautiful. They reminded him of an old Elizabeth Taylor movie his mother used to watch, over and over. Lauren’s eyebrows and lashes were dark, setting off a nice contrast with her pale hair, cut shorter with curls just brushing her shoulders. Tall, not slim, more like an athlete’s figure and small, shapely breasts. A pity about her hair, he mused. Thomas enjoyed wrapping a woman’s hair around his fist and yanking on it as he fucked her. No matter, he’d make the girl grow it out.

“Ah,” he smiled easily, “I like to handle the important matters myself. I had one highly recommended planner book a heavy metal band for a retirement party.”

He liked the sound of her laugh, pretty and light. “A good cautionary tale! Most 65 year olds aren’t all that into Anthrax or Korn.”

They spoke for a few minutes, discussing music and favorite artists. Lauren was pleasantly surprised at his wide range of music interests. Finally, he leaned forward, hands together and she automatically sat up straight like a student with a stern professor, a movement he regarded with a bit of amusement.

“I wanted to interview you personally, Miss Marsh because I am looking for something of a more… durable nature. I need someone responsible who can handle these requirements for me with professionalism. Your career with the London Symphony Orchestra will not be disturbed, of course. But I find myself requiring…” Inside, Thomas was laughing at himself. This was a job interview he’d never anticipated holding. “...requiring someone discreet. Well-versed in social nuance and able to represent me and the Corporation in the best light. I do assure you this can be quite lucrative.”

Lauren was thinking of her horrible one-room flat, down an alleyway and within walking distance of St. Luke’s. Hot water was optional at best and she’d once found a rat racing across the floor when she came home. She may have had a scholarship to Juilliard, but there were still student loans to repay. Mr. Pine was hinting at a second job! Omigod! To be able to pay her rent _and_ her cell phone bill at the same time! Dizzy with the visions of occasionally being able to order takeaway instead of discount ramen, she nodded eagerly. "I see. I do have connections to musicians from many different genres of music. I can certainly help customize the music to your events." She trailed off as she noticed his expression. He looked almost... hungry?

"That sounds very useful, Miss Marsh. Tell me a bit about yourself. Do you have family here?"

Forcing a smile, she shook her head. "No, I'm an only child, my father lives in New York."

"Your mother?" This was unkind, Thomas knew her mother was dead but he wanted to see how she handled it.

Lauren looked down at her lap. "She passed away from cancer five years ago."

"I'm sorry," he reflexively murmured, not sorry at all and pleased to have one less obstacle. "Have you made new friends here in London?"

"I haven't been here long," she confessed, "but everyone at LSO has been very nice, and I was lucky that one of my closest friends at Juilliard was also hired by the Orchestra. She was the violinist from last night?"

"Hmmm..."

Oddly, he didn't seem pleased by that and Lauren brushed the confusing thought away. "We're still a couple of months away from beginning practice for the new season, so I'm happy to devote as much time as you need to setting out your events calendar for the year."

Thomas was looking her over, a slow visual circuit that made Lauren vaguely uneasy. Then, he nodded as if his mind was made up. Rising, he held out his hand again. "I believe we'll work very well together Miss Marsh. I'll be in touch." She gave him a huge smile that made a wave of heat run though his cock, and he irritably willed it down again.

"Wonderful- I mean, that's really great Mr. Pine, I'm really-"

Laughing he shook his head, "Call me Thomas."

"Thank you, Mr. Pine. I mean, Thomas. I mean, thanks, that's great and I'm Lauren and I'm... just going to shut up now. Talk to you soon." Flashing him another happy grin, she turned and left his office.

Pulling out his phone, he texted one of his burlier assistants. 

_Pick up Frank Marsh and bring him to my office tonight at 6pm._

 

She ignored her phone for three days. It was a record. Three days of endless, persistent calls from her father, the Darth Vader theme from ‘Star Wars’ blaring ominously every time he tried to reach her.

“It can’t be anything but bad news,” she reminded herself.

_Ring, ring, ring…_

“Every time he finally gets to me, it’s bad.” Lauren recited as she looked at the lit screen at 2am and tossed it back on her bedside table.

_Ring, ring, ring…_

“He makes you feel like nothing, every time. Every time, Lauren!”

_Ring, ring, ring…_

“Hello?”

She deliberately chose a coffee house far away from where she lived, not wanting to give her father any hints on how to follow her home. And Lauren was surprised to see he was already seated as she walked in. Frank was never on time. He always kept her waiting, just to remind her that she was the least important thing on his “to-do” list that day. He stood, relief evident on his still-handsome face as he walked over to kiss her on the cheek, not seeming to notice how his daughter flinched back when he leaned in.

“Thank you for meeting me, sweetheart. It’s been a long time.”

Frank Marsh looked every inch the wealthy CEO- expensive suit, expensive haircut and expensive botox designed to keep him looking formidable. But Lauren knew better. The slight inconvenience of his wife dying of cancer hadn’t slowed down his drinking and gambling in the slightest. In her most bitter moments, Lauren wondered if he’d ever placed a bet on the time of death. He was disappointed that his only child was a girl. He was disappointed that Lauren was like her mother, loving music and dance and literature. Frank Marsh was most particularly and specifically disappointed when Lauren grew a spine and refused to give up her place at Juilliard when he found her acceptance letter, furiously drunk and shouting at her. She was sure he’d come to his senses when he sobered up the next day, but he’d had her clothing packed up while she was at freshman orientation. When Lauren came home, Frank calmly told her that it was either accept her admission to business school or leave home. She'd chosen the latter.

"Yes. Around four years, to be precise." Lauren looked calm, but her hands were gripping her thighs.

When his eyes turned back to hers, they were suspiciously shiny. "Your beautiful eyes. Just like your mother's, I'd forgotten." Frank chuckled, "Do you remember that Elizabeth Taylor movie she used to make us watch, over and over? 'Gone With The Wind'-"

"It was 'National Velvet,'" Lauren interrupted. "Vivian Leigh was in 'Gone With The Wind.'"

Frank looked at her blankly. "What?" he shook his head, "Never mind. But your violet eyes... you look so much like her."

Lauren took a painful sip of her hot coffee, then soldiered on. "So, what are you doing in London? How did you know I was here?"

He chuckled, leaning back and smiling at her fondly, "I was surprised, sweetie, to be honest. I thought you were still in school back in Manhattan. But I'm here for a board meeting with our parent corporation-"

Her brow furrowed. "You sold the company? When?"

Waving one hand expansively, Frank said, "Oh, a few years ago. It was a wise business move."

Lauren pondered the news. The company was actually founded by her mother's family, Frank took over as CEO when her grandfather died. Ironically, her mother had deeded her shareholder status to Lauren before she passed away- which her father had immediately transferred into his name, since she was "A minor and knew nothing about business."

"Well, congratulations, I guess. What did you need to discuss with me? You said it was life or death for you. If it's money, I do't have any- you already spent my college fund, so-"

Reaching over the little table, her father tried to take her hand, but Lauren's fists were still in her lap. "It's not about money, sweetheart- but it is life or death." He looked around the crowded shop anxiously, then back to her. "Take a walk with me? Please?"

Rubbing her forehead and feeling a headache forming, Lauren hedged, "Frank, look, I just-"

"Please, honey. PLEASE?" Frank hastily lowered his tone as she looked up. "Please. Please, just do this one thing for me."

With a sigh, his daughter nodded, and he beamed getting up from the table and beginning to leave. Realizing he wasn't going to pay for their coffee, Lauren angrily pulled out some money and followed him after tossing the bills on the table.

They somehow ended up in Hyde Park, Lauren automatically following along one of her regular running trails. “So, tell me what’s going on, Frank.” She already knew it was going to be bad. She just had no idea how very bad it could be.

“You must be insane! How could- what were you thinking?”

“Honey,” Frank hissed, looking around them anxiously, “please, Lauren, lower your voice! You know I never would have let this happen- I didn’t-”

Lauren was so enraged that she was crying. Furiously wiping away her tears, she snarled, “Even after everything you’ve ever done, Frank, I never thought you’d try sell me off! I’m not a bunch of your shitty stocks! You can’t just-”

"Stop it! Listen to me!" her father grabbed her by the upper arms, turning her to look at him. He was sweating, his eyes wide. "Honey, I know you hate me. And you have every right! But- you must have got on Pine's radar at the fundraiser because there is no negotiating with this man! He wants you, and he will fucking kill me and take what's left of the company if you don't agree to this!"

"Don't touch me! Don't!" Lauren yanked her arm away, stumbling a bit.

"Is there a problem here?" They both turned to see two well-dressed men standing behind them, uncomfortably close. Frank must have recognized them, because the blood drained from his face.

"No!" He nearly shouted before collecting himself. Smoothing his jacket and breathing in, Frank continued calmly, "No, just my daughter and I having a-" he attempted to chuckle, and the sound was horrible. "Just my daughter and I having a lively discussion."

Their new acquaintances didn't look convinced, and one- who looked like he'd has his nose broken more than once, said, "Mr. Pine would like to see you." He took Lauren's arm and began walking her briskly towards an exit as she attempted to dig her heels in, looking frantically back at her father. Realizing he was following with docility, head down, she glared back at the man dragging her. 

"Let go of me or I swear I'll scream my bloody lungs out!" She tried to sound fierce and authoritative, but she knew her voice was shaking.

Broken Nose Guy only chuckled. "No, you won't." He gestured at her father's back, and Lauren realized the other man had a gun pressing painfully right about where Frank's kidneys would be. 

The ride- once they'd been shoved into an anonymous black car was silent, Lauren clenching her shaking hands together, looking out the window and refusing to speak. To her misery, it was clear they were heading for the same building where she'd had her "job interview" earlier that week. It was then, that the sickening reality hit her: Frank wasn't lying. He wasn't drunk, this wasn't some sick figment of his imagination. For whatever completely fucked-up reason, he sincerely intended to give her to the vice president of the Corporation in exchange for not killing him over her grandfather's now-failing company. Which meant... anyone willing to kill over a weak P&L statement had to be involved in organized crime. Which meant- Jesus! Did her dad work for the _Mob?_ Arms dealers? The group was still silent, riding up the mirrored lift, Lauren numbly counting the numbers by heart as they reached the top floor, Broken Nose Guy taking her arm again, squeezing cruelly when she angrily tried to yank it away. 

It was deja vu of the worst kind to be entering Pine's awe-inspiring office again, the floor quieter now that it was evening and after hours. And even worse was to see the man sitting behind his desk, beautifully clad in a severe black suit with a grey and sapphire printed tie. There was no smile this time, no courteous rise to his feet to shake her hand, but Lauren had to try. This was impossible- this shit didn't happen in real life!

"M- Mr. Pine? Um, Thomas? This has to be some kind of mistake, right? This isn't-"

Thomas ignored her for the moment, his beautiful face set in cold lines as he stared at her shaking father. "Frank. I'm very disappointed in you."

 

Lauren stood silently, dazed as her father stammered out excuses and explanations, apologizing profusely for his daughter's ungrateful and disobedient nature and promising to _bring her to her senses_ if only Mr. Pine would give him once more chance to-

Thomas raised his hand, cutting off the flow of begging and pleading as his frigid gaze turned to Lauren. "Do you understand what your father had told you?"

She was amazed at how much could change with this man from one meeting to the next. The vice president she'd met just days before was cool and abrupt, but charming, handsome. This man was terrifying. "Noth- nothing rational, Mr. Pine. This can't be real, you can't want-" She halted as his hand came up again.

"It's quite simple, darling. I require a wife. You fit my requirements. Your father requires your obedience in order to live." Staring at her pale face, Thomas smiled suddenly. "Do you understand?"

His frown returned as Lauren angrily shook her head. "This is insane! What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Thomas made a negligent gesture, and Broken Nose Guy calmly pulled out his gun and shot her father in the thigh. The weapon firing was close enough to the girl to make her ears ring violently, making Frank's shrill scream of pain seem fuzzy, far away. With a sigh, Pine rose, and abruptly hustled her over to the same chair she'd sat in during her ill-fated interview that week. Cupping his hands over her ears, he watched her terrified violet gaze until the buzzing faded and she was able to draw a full breath without her chest hitching. Coming back to her senses, Lauren whirled to see Frank sobbing as the men swiftly bandaged his leg. 

"Stop making such a fuss, Marsh." Thomas's tone was bored and disapproving. "The bullet went straight through. You should be more relieved that you didn't get blood on my rug." Lauren's nausea rose as she realized they'd positioned her father on a sheet of plastic as they'd entered the room to keep the furnishings tidy. Jerking his head, Thomas instructed the men to take him out.

"Where are you taking my father!" Lauren hissed, trying to stand up. One broad palm went to her shoulder, seating her decisively back down. 

Looming over her deliberately, Pine leaned against his desk. "They're just taking him to be checked over. Not to worry yourself, darling."

"I'm NOT your darling, asshole!" Lauren was instantly sorry for her moment of courage when his hands shot forward, gripping the top of her chair and hemming her in. 

"Oh, darling," Thomas purred, "you are anything I choose you to be. And as charming as I find your defiant stance, it ends as of now. I am not permissive, like your father. You will behave. You will keep your mouth shut. You will do as you are told and you will not defy me. And if you do..." he leaned forward as Lauren shrank back, his cold gaze pinning her. "I will kill your father in front of you. And if you still defy me. I will kill you. Are we quite clear, darling?"

There was dead silence in the vast office, nothing but her frantic breathing. Lauren was suddenly aware of how good this monster smelled- crisp notes of his cologne, the warm scent of fine wool and the warmth radiating from his closeness. But he was still a monster.

"Why?" she suddenly asked, not sure what else to say, "Why me?"

Thomas tilted his head thoughtfully, still not moving away from his close scrutiny. "Because... you fit my requirements," he said, a little surprised at his honesty. Leaning back, he offered his hand. "It's late. My driver will take you home. Try to get some rest, the wedding coordinator will call you in the morning. You will answer her call immediately."

Lauren shook her head, unsteadily getting to her feet and refusing to touch his outstretched hand. "A coordinator? Already?"

He was already back in his chair behind the desk, his attention back on a huge computer monitor. "Yes, darling. We don't have much time. We're getting married three weeks from now." 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're missing "You Belong To Me, Now" or "Sing, Banshee" I'll have new chapters for both up this week. Thank you as always for reading.


	3. Crying Doesn't Solve Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren discovers there are some things from which there is no escape. Marriage. Bondage. And loss of best friends.

When his office was quiet again, the bloody plastic cleaned and up the sniveling Frank Marsh carted away, Thomas rose and poured himself a drink, looking thoughtfully out on the London cityscape. It was not quite the unveiling he'd planned for his new bride, but Lauren's idiot father had cocked it all up quite solidly. He'd enjoyed the girl even more on their second meeting. How she'd handled the shock of it all- her father's ungraceful punishment- was really quite impressive. No screaming or hysterics. Thomas was always impatient with a new acquisition's stammering pleas or weak explanations, but when the girl realized they weren't working on him, she'd shut up. A slow smile crept across that mobile mouth as he recalled her defiance. His sweet little musician _did_ have a backbone. He would enjoy bending it to his desired shape.

Meanwhile, Lauren was trying to open the door to her flat, hands shaking and causing her to drop her keys twice and swearing under her breath. When she'd been dropped off by Broken Nose Guy, she'd noticed that the black Mercedes did not drive off, instead standing sentry in front of her ratty building. Oddly, she felt embarrassed that the thug- and by extension, Thomas- knew of her feeble living accomodations. She was sure filthy rich lunatics like Pine never dealt with little inconveniences like students loans and the tiny salary of a new member of the London Symphony Orchestra. Finally getting the door open, Lauren stepped inside and started clicking all the locks on the inside of the door shut, trying to add a new layer of protection with each chain secured and deadbolt engaged. Finally standing back and wiping her sweaty palms on her jumper the enormity of the situation finally slapped her in the face and the girl slid down the door to her nice little entry rug, beginning to cry and absently wiping her palms over and over on her jeans.

Waking up in the morning, for one glorious moment it was as if nothing had happened, that she was still Lauren with an indifferent, selfish father and just beginning a promising career with one of the most respected symphonies in the world. Then, the phone rang.

"Noooo," she moaned, burying her face into her pillow. "No, no nononononono..." Surely, if she simply kept denying it, it wouldn't be real, the bizarre meeting with the beautiful and terrifying Vice President of Jaguar Corporation. This didn't happen in the real world. The phone rang, persistently, steadily until she poked "dismiss call" and turned over. Then, it began again. This time, Lauren angrily put it on silent. She was given ten more minutes of blissful oblivion until there was a loud knock on her door. Then, another. Then another until they sped up and the shabby wooden frame was rattling against the blows.

"I'M COMING!" She finally shouted, angrily getting to her feet and grabbing a sweatshirt to go over her sleep pants. "FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! GIVE IT A REST!" Yanking open the door, Lauren's angry diatribe instantly shut off as she observed the unamused expression on Broken Nose Guy's face. He was dressed in a fresh suit and holding out an iPhone. 

He thrust the phone towards her. "Take it."

"No," Lauren mumbled childishly, staring at the phone as if waiting for it to turn into a rattlesnake and bite her.

With a sigh, Broken Nose Guy pushed his way into her flat and shut the door, tapping the speaker button so the cold voice of her new fiance was audible.

"Lauren."

She concealed a shudder. No one this evil should sound so good, Lauren thought despairingly, his beautiful voice was sonorous, deep, his enunciation perfection. And his displeasure, apparent.

"Answer me now, or my associate will _make_ you answer me."

"Dude! What!" she snarled, trying not to let her voice shake.

"First," Thomas's tone was measured and calm, as if he had all day to train her, "You will address me as Thomas. Secondly, you will eliminate these American vulgarities from your speech."

The grinding of Lauren's teeth was nearly audible.

"Third," he continued as if she'd already acquiesced, "I understand you have not answered the phone call from the wedding planner, as I had instructed last night." She could hear the shifting of papers, as if he was conducting Corporation business while handling a such a minor inconvenience as forcing another human being to marry him.

"Why do we need a wedding planner?" Lauren finally asked, a little proud that her voice wasn't shaking. "Wouldn't a lunchtime trip to the Registrar's Office do the trick? Doesn't all the pageantry seem a little... vulgar in this case?" She was a little proud of the bite at the end of her question, but her new fiance squashed that flat.

“Our… union is rather high profile, darling.” Thomas’s unamused voice was deeper, more clipped. “It is expected to garner quite a bit of attention, and we are to celebrate this occasion with much pomp and circumstance. I assure you it is not to my taste either. But neither is getting married, so-” He stopped dead as he realized he’d said more than intended. Unfortunately, Lauren immediately pounced on his lapse.

“You don’t want to marry me? Then why is this disastrous thing even happening? You don’t seem like the type to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Thomas ground his teeth. Maybe he should just lock her in a room in his house until the wedding day. With nothing but bread and water. Because this cheeky little bitch was becoming extremely irritating. “I am a businessman, darling,” he answered, his tone back to cool and emotionless. "And as I told you last night, you fit my requirements. Now, I have been rather lenient, knowing that you must be a bit in shock over the developments of the last 24 hours. My permissiveness ends here. You will answer the call from our wedding planner. You will do what you are told. And if you resist my instructions again, the next bullet goes through your father's heart. Are we quite clear?"

Lauren was frozen, the blood drained from her face, leaving it sheet-white as she remembered Frank's screams from the night before.

"ARE. WE. CLEAR?" The voice that whiplashed through the speaker on the phone was harsh and cold, the voice of a man who would be completely comfortable murdering her father, and then, her. A man who probably had plenty of random, untraceable burial sites already picked out.

"Yesss..." she hissed, trying not to let her voice waver.

"Yes, WHAT?" He was relentless.

"Um, yes, Thomas?"

"Very good." The next sound she heard was a click that signified her psychotic new fiance was finished with her.

Numbly handing the phone back to Broken Nose Guy, Lauren kept her lavender eyes wide, trying desperately to not cry in front of this corporate thug. Slipping the phone back in his jacket pocket, he made a irritable grunt and produced a box, handing it to her.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding it like the box might detonate at any moment.

“A new phone,” he replied, “it will be better… protected than yours. You are to use it for any calls related to the wedding or Mr. Pine.”

Feeling her nose begin to run and wanting desperately to get away from this man before she cried, Lauren nodded rapidly and tried to close the door. His foot slid out and blocked her efforts.

“Miss Marsh,” Broken Nose Guy’s voice was firm, but not unkind, “it is in your best interests to make this event run smoothly. You are not helping yourself by trying to put up a fight. This will happen. I would suggest you keep your father alive to walk you down the aisle.”

That did it. With tears literally springing from her eyes, Lauren nodded rapidly and shut the door.

 

She was given a full fifteen minutes to weep until her new phone began to ring. Angrily opening the box, Lauren found a shiny new silver iPhone X, fully charged and buzzing insistently. Clearing her throat and hastily blowing her nose, she answered it.

“H-Hello?”

“Lauren! A pleasure to speak with you, dear! I’m Jessica, your wedding planner.” The voice on the other end was warm, gracious, almost as if this was a normal, high-society union.

“Um, hello.” Lauren ran a hand through her wildly disordered curls. “Nice to meet you.”

There was a respectful silence at the other end of the line that told her this Jessica was quite aware that she was not at all happy to meet her, given the reality of what this would set in motion.

“Well!” Jessica said, “I’m sorry to throw you into the thick of things, but we have exactly 20 days to put everything in order, so-”

“Where am I getting married?” Lauren gave a wet sort of chuckle, trying to not laugh at the bizarre nature of the call with this relentlessly cheerful woman.

“Oh,” the planner answered, “the Royal Opera House. The glass atrium is magnificent, I assure you.”

“That’s nice,” Lauren said blankly. She listened obediently, making agreeing sort of noises every time Jessica paused, and numbly promised to meet her at Brown’s Bridal later that afternoon. For some reason, her first search on her laptop was the Royal Opera House. You could get married at the Royal Opera House? Apparently so, though her search told her they only hosted two weddings a year, and even though hers was set in a mere 20 days, Mr. and Mrs. Pine’s would indeed be one of them. Starting to cry again, she automatically picked up her own phone, about to press the button to call Macie. Macie would make her laugh- she could talk her down from the completely fucked-up disaster that was now her life and- Lauren’s thumb hovered. With a spear of ice running through her stomach, the girl realized she couldn’t tell Macie. She couldn’t tell anyone. How could she have her best friend as her maid of honor in a group of crime lords? Murderers? God knows what else? She couldn’t endanger Macie that way. For the first time, Lauren realized she was utterly and completely on her own. No one was going to rescue her. No one could help her. And she started crying so hard she thought her heart would come out of her throat.

 

Nonetheless, she showed up at the elaborate bridal shop on time, shifting from foot to foot as the impeccably suited woman at the reception area stared at her. "Do you have an appointment, dear?" she asked in a saccharine tone that indicated she clearly thought the young blonde in the inexpensive sundress in fact, did not.

"Carolyn." A cool voice Lauren recognize came from behind her, and a firm hand slipped into her elbow, pulling her along. "This is Miss Marsh. We have very little time, and I _do_ hope you will be able to handle our requirements."

Automatically cringing at the dreaded word "requirement," Lauren obediently followed the short redhead who was already hauling her through the store's private dressing area. Finally turning to her, Jessica gave her a huge, red-lipsticked smile. "Hello, dear. I'm Jessica, you're Lauren and we have absolutely no time to waste. Now. Do you have any particular vision about how you'd like to look on your wedding day? Any certain style?"

There was something about the older woman's shrewd gaze that told Lauren the planner knew quite well what was going on. So, she numbly shook her head.

"All right!" Jessica said cheerfully. Turning to the cowering saleswoman, she briskly rattled off a list of designers. "Monique Lhuillier, some of the 2018 fall couture line. Vera Wang, spring 2016. Oh, and some of the gauzier versions from the Delphine Manivet Paris Fashion Week collection. Bypassing the assistant, the redhead took the alarmed Lauren's measurements herself. "Very nice..." she murmured approvingly, "I'm so tired of dressing skeletal society types. You've got a lovely, healthy figure. Some of the softer styles would drape so beautifully off that toned back of yours..."

Lauren tried to form her numb lips in the shape of a smile, but she mainly stood silent, allowing them to strip her to her underwear and haul her into various gowns like a mannequin. It was clear the assistant was beginning to be confused by her utter lack of enthusiasm, but finally Jessica hauled the woman away, murmuring something about "Painfully shy... terribly uncomfortable..." as she sent the fitter out of the room. Turning around and looking at the dispirited blonde standing on the dias in the middle of the room, her expression softened. 

"I imagine this is quite overwhelming to you, dear."

Pressing her full lips together, Lauren stared at her. There was nothing she could say. There was nothing to say.

 

The planner finally decided on an exquisite Delphine Manivet creation, simple lines and a beautiful, sweeping skirt. Turning Lauren this way and that, taking pictures and making notes in her iPad, she nodded. "It's perfect." Pausing to look at the blank expression on the blushing bride's face, she asked, "Would you like to offer an opinion, Lauren? Did you have a preference?"

Staring at the piles of lace and chiffon confections thrown across the couch and dressing room racks, Lauren shrugged and shook her head. Whatever foolish dreams she'd had as a little girl about her dream wedding bore no resemblance whatsoever to the nightmare in which she was currently entangled. There was no frame of reference that she could even access. "This one... seems nice," she finally offered, touching the silk bodice and missing the look of pity in her wedding planner's eyes.

Twenty days became fifteen, then ten. Macie kept calling for lunch, a drink after rehearsal, and a couple of texts that simply read, "What the fuck is up with you, girl?" Lauren excused her pale face and the growing dark circles under her eyes as "Not feeling well, some kind of bug," and explaining she was heading home to sleep. Then five days, and she obediently returned to the bridal salon for her final fitting. The seamstress clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

"You didn't need to lose weight, dear! Why must you girls starve yourself before the wedding? The dress fit perfectly! I'll need to do some alterations..." Lauren was confused about the woman's disapproval until she looked in the mirror. She'd always been proud of her strong body, lean muscles earned from Lacrosse and running. Her ribs were showing through her skin, and it wasn't particularly attractive. Jessica walked behind her, looking at Lauren's reflection over her shoulder. The girl refused to look at her. She hated pity. She hated seeing it in the redhead's eyes. 

Clearing her throat, the planner returned to her ipad, tapping in some notes. "I'll have some high-protein, high-calorie drinks delivered to your flat," she said calmly, "many of my brides get too excited or anxious to eat. Let's see if we can get you better-nourished before the big day, all right?" Waiting until Lauren forced herself to nod, Jessica continued in a light tone, chattering about the details they needed to attend to in the next couple of days. 

By the time Lauren dragged herself home, she couldn't think of anything but a glass of cheap wine and a hot bath. 'God,' she thought, 'I really hope there's hot water. Please, Mother Mary and all the Saints, let there be hot water.' So consumed with her dream of soaking in a tub and maybe slipping down until the water went over her head and drowned her, Lauren didn't see her angry friend sitting on the stairs in front of her flat until she nearly tripped over her.

"Well, what the hell do we have here?" Macie was pissed, and she wasn't shy about showing it. "It's my best fucking friend. You know, the one where we had slumber parties and talked about our hopes and dreams and shit? And the one who's getting married and never fucking told me?"

Lauren rubbed her throbbing forehead. "What?"

Macie held up a newspaper accusingly, and it took Lauren a moment to realize it was a copy of "The Times," open to the wedding announcements page. Taking it from her friend, she read it slowly.

**Forthcoming Marriages:**

**Mr. T.W. Pine and Miss L.M. Marsh**

_The engagement is announced between Thomas, son of the late James and Diana Pine of London, and Lauren, daughter of Frank and the late Aurelia Marsh of New York City._

"Congratulations," Macie said sarcastically, "they usually don't do wedding announcements for anyone but celebrities and royalty. Like, fucking Benedict Cumberbatch announced his nuptials here. You're so upper crust."

Lauren sat down next to her furious friend on the stairs. "Maze... It's not what you think..."

She couldn't even look at Macie, knowing there were tears in her warm brown eyes and not wanting to feel even lower than she did already. 

"Girl, are you kidding me right now? You're fucking engaged to someone I don't even know and you've only been here like 2 months and you're getting married and- shit! I've never heard of him?" Yep, there were tears because Macie angrily brushed them away. "Who ARE you? What the hell happened to my best girlfriend Lauren? You really were never going to tell me you were getting _married?_ Are you shitting me?" 

Macie leaned in to look at Lauren’s face, staring at the worn riser. “You’re not even going to tell me what’s going on here?”

‘If she gets hurt, it will be because of me.’ It was all Lauren could think of, and she forced herself to concentrate.

“You… He’s a friend of my father’s, his company bought Frank’s company and we met up here-”

“I know who he is, idiot! You were meeting him that day after our coffee date! What I don’t know is how he went from a potential gig to your fiance!”

Fury rose up in Lauren, usually the nice girl, usually the one who worked to make everyone feel at ease. “Goddamnit Macie! Back the fuck off! You don’t think I have enough shit right now that-” ‘Fuck,’ she thought bitterly, ‘shut _up_ , you idiot!’ 

Macie’s fury melted into concern. “What’s going on? This isn’t you. You look sick, honey, and I’ve never seen you like-”

“Look, Macie, I’m just really stressed over the wedding, okay? And it’s really small, and it’s just like… my Dad’s friends and Thomas’s and it’s not really-”

She didn’t have to see her friend’s face to see the hurt there. “You were never going to tell me. Holy shit. You were going to get married and act like nothing ever happened, like you didn’t have a husband and a whole other life.” Macie drew in a shuddering breath. “Are you ashamed of me?”

Lauren’s soul curled like it had been set on fire. Macie was always acutely miserable because of her background, dirt poor and from a mother who was more interested in her crack pipe and a non-existent father. “No! Jesus, honey, no! Not at all! I can’t-” the blonde drew in a shuddering breath. “You took care of me when my dad threw me out. You’ve always been there for me. But I am begging you to listen to me!” Turning, she grabbed Macie’s hands, squeezing them. “Please trust me. There is a reason-” she groaned, what could she possibly say?

“What?” snapped Macie, “then what the hell is the reason?” Her eyes narrowed when her friend’s teary-eyed violet ones met hers. “You’re not going to give me one, are you?” Pulling her hands away, she stood up and dropped the paper on the stairs. “Well, okay. Congratulations, and all that shit. See you later.”

Listening to her only friend here in London furiously clomp down the stairs and slam the door shut, Lauren started crying again. Somehow, this was even worse than the realization that there was nothing she could do to escape Thomas’s horrific “proposal.”

 

And then, just to make things as depressing as humanly possible, the invitation came from Arabella Kingsley and Clara something- another vice president's fiancee?- to a Hen's Night. Staring at the invitation, Lauren chuckled mirthlessly. Of course. Who else was going to celebrate her upcoming hell, aside from other Corporate wives? Did they know what their men did for a living? So, as the moving men sent from Thomas relentlessly packed up the meager belongings of her flat, Lauren sat down to email the women back, politely thanking them for their invitation.

"Have a drink, honey! It's your last night as a free woman!" Clara missed the actual cringe Lauren gave as she raised her glass of champagne, but Number One's wife did not. The three drank a toast, and Lauren carefully smiled as she refused to let the other girl stick a tiara on her head that read: "Fuck me! I'm the Bride!" when Clara trotted off to the loo, Arabella eyed the hollow-eyed blonde keenly. 

"I should have been here for you sooner. I'm sorry."

Looking up from her drink, Lauren frowned. "Pardon?"

Checking behind her by habit, the older woman leaned in. "I understand what you're going through. I didn't believe it when my husband first told me. I know this wasn't your choice, and believe me, it wasn't Thomas's plan, either."

Lauren laughed bitterly. "Then why am I here?" She watched the lovely women across from her hesitate. The Corporation's President's wife was beautiful, exquisitely groomed and wearing a diamond slightly bigger than her head. Sighing, she seemed to come to a decision.

"The Corporation has new... business partners," Arabella offered carefully, "important ones. Dangerous ones. They prefer... settled men. Married men. For Thomas to continue holding this account, he needed to become a married man. To show stability." She smiled sympathetically at the younger girl's rising fury.

"I'm being trapped in this hell because it looks better if Thomas is _married?"_

Arabella squeezed her hand. "You don't understand how important these business partners are. They are... deadly. Even more so than our men."

Watching Clara bounce across the crowded bar and heading to their table, Lauren asked, "Does she know?"

Shaking her head sadly, Mrs. Kingsley admitted, "No. And we are forbidden to tell her. You're going to learn to keep a lot of secrets, dear. At the cost of your life."

 

Meanwhile, Thomas had brushed off any suggestion of a stag party on the night before his wedding as utterly ludicrous. Instead he placed a call to his favorite club, listing his requirements.

"...We have a very pretty blonde, tonight, Mr. Pine, she's-"

"No!" Thomas drew in a breath, "No blondes. Dark haired. Darker."

The club was heavy with the scent of patchouli and a dozen different perfumes. Pine wandered through the rooms, lost in thought. All the oiled, glistening bodies writhing failed to tempt him as usual. Walking into one, he enjoyed the pretty girl dancing in nothing but a thong, undulating and swirling her hips. Her hair was black, falling to her waist with warm brown skin and huge breasts. As far from Lauren as he could get. Walking closer, Thomas waited until her next turn bumped her generous breasts into his chest. "Well, darling. Aren't you the tastiest morsel in this place."

It took less than five minutes to have the girl laid out like a buffet on a platform in the room, a few minutes more to have her tightly bound and held into the position of his choosing. Thomas was vaguely aware of the whispers and giggles of other members gathering to watch the show. The pretty girl writhed in eagerness, looking up at him.

"What's your name, darling?" Thomas ran two fingers down the length of her body, enjoying her excited shudder.

"It's Aashritha, Sir." Her voice was breathy, just as he liked. So when he flipped open a switchblade, her little whimper was perfect.

Leaning close and breathing in the scent of her sudden fear, he exhaled in pleasure. "Do you know that I could carve you into pieces, Aashritha?"

She whimpered now, and managed to say, "Yes, Sir."

"Should I hurt you?" The razor sharp tip of his blade was traveling over her quivering breasts, delicately tracing her nipples and enjoying the way they hardened under the cold steel. 

"Wh- It should be whatever you want, Sir," she whispered, trying not to move as his blade stroked along her swelling vaginal lips.

“You’re correct, darling.” Thomas smiled as she stifled a whimper as he thrust two fingers into her wet channel, enjoying the desperate shiver as Aashritha tried to hold still. “Do you want all these people to know what a dirty, _dirty_ little girl you are?”

It seemed like the first time she’d realized how many others were watching them, enjoying the show of her desperate submission and how much she was enjoying the wandering movement of the steel blade against her flesh.

AAAH!” The girl screamed as Thomas dug the tip of the blade into her breast, just enough for a red bead of blood to well up, caught between his lips and his tongue.

“Delicious, my sweet cunt. Are you as tasty below as you are above?” He was holding back, an indulgent smile on his lips as the girl bound below him sobbed and trembled.

She couldn't stop her hips from moving up, trying to gain friction against the teasing edge of his blade, knowing it could pierce her but so very needy for the stimulation. "Yes, Sir, please! Please let me give you what you want. I need to give you what you want- I want you to be happy!" Aashritha was sobbing now, half out of her mind with desperation to convince this beautiful, cruel man to let her come.

Expertly flipping the blade in his hand so the handle faced towards the girl, he leaned close again, licking a stripe up her neck. "Are you certain, baby? Are you quite sure you will let me have you in any way I want?"

Crying in desperation, she frantically nodded, suddenly hopeful as she watched him release his alarmingly huge cock from the confines of his pants, leisurely rolling on a condom. She could hear the coos and titters of the women in the crowd around them, sighing in appreciation over the size of him as Thomas crawled over her, gathering her legs over his thighs and hoisting her up higher. Her stomach muscles clenched as she felt his thick digits stroking lubricant against her anus, slowly sliding inside her, scissoring his fingers to widen her. With a quick thrust, he sent the wide handle of the blade up her passage as he pushed the broad head of his cock inside her clenching sphincter, enjoying the girl's startled, rapturous wail. He began thrusting both in tandem with the other, in, as the other retreated, plunging back in as one withdrew. 

"I could flip this knife at any moment, darling, couldn't I?" Thomas whispered into her ear, sweat beading his forehead, eyelids fluttering as he kept rigid control of his movements. "Do you think this razor sharp blade could travel through your tender cunt without hurting you? Do you think I could hold enough control to keep from tearing you apart in both your holes as I came? Hmmm? Could you even stop me if you knew you would come just as hard?" His thrusts were growing stronger, harsher, and her hands gripped his broad shoulders, fingers clutching into his muscles to find some kind of grip as she came undone. "Ah... there you are, darling," Pine gloated, feeling her helpless convulsions against his cock and the merciless handle of his knife. "Squeeze the come out of me, there's a good girl. Such a very, very good girl." He couldn't hear the applause of their avid audience over Aashritha's screams and moans, nor would he have cared. She made the music he needed to hear tonight.

Coming home from her "Hen's Night," just a little drunk and trying not to show it to Broken Nose Guy, who was stolidly waiting outside the club to drive her, Lauren undressed, still quite steady. She'd been terrified to drink too much, ever since the ugly night where her father's bullet wound had sealed her fate. Looking at her exquisite wedding gown, hung neatly on a little rack in her bedroom, she squeezed her lavender eyes shut, trying not to cry. Crying doesn't solve anything.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so it seems pretty bleak. But remember that Thomas is an entitled asshole and Lauren is like the rest of us: Hell Hath No Fury Like A Pissed-Off Woman. That is all.


	4. I Am All That You Have Right Now...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas and Lauren are married. And it is as horrible as it is beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, this is why I love you all so much- you will behold the Awesome of not one, but two new official "Family" crests here for us in the Love Tom community below. We're trying to decide if we can create an official Scottish tartan to go with it, or at the very least t-shirts. 
> 
> -Also-  
> There is an element in the wedding passage here that will probably make you laugh. I don't want to give it away but it came from the genius LoveToRead2Much, who casually threw it out in a comment on the last chapter. Because she's cool like that.

 

The above is a beautiful creation from our beloved Archy- who took inspiration from an utterly hysterical quote from Candy_Flaps, who said "Stay strong Lauren there is some glorious cock on the horizon, from a man who knows his way round a Woman." We all fell apart, and now- we have an official Family Crest! Representing all of us Thomas/Loki/Laing lovers!

 

 

If she'd been asked later how she'd gotten to the Royal Opera House, Lauren could not have said. She only knew she was sitting in a palatial dressing room with a hair stylist sweeping her blonde curls into an elegant chignon while a makeup artist deftly painted her face. Jessica, clad in an elegant blue suit, was darting this way and that, speaking with someone on her bluetooth device about flowers, where the Russian vodka was stocked, and whether the musicians were assembled. For a moment, Lauren froze at the mention of musicians and she turned to look at the planner, causing the makeup artist to swear when her eyeliner went awry. Seeing her stricken expression, Jessica pushed her 'mute' button. 

"The string quartet is a lovely group I've used many times before," she assured, "but none of them are aligned with the London Symphony Orchestra."

Forcing a smile, Lauren nodded and tried to sit still again for the makeup artist to finish her work. She was suffused with a huge wave of sadness, thinking that if she'd ever really thought about some future wedding, it would have given her great joy to have a group from her friends at the LSO play. Which then led her to thinking that of course Macie would have been her maid of honor, which made the girl realize exactly what she was here for and what was about to happen. Her heart started pounding as she felt a wild sense of unreality. 'This... this really couldn't be happening, right?' she thought, 'I mean, this is 2018. People can't just force you to marry them? Maybe I should have gone to the police?' Her common sense kicked in, reminding her that a crime organization at this level likely owned the police- or enough of them to be notified of her efforts. Picturing Frank and herself in a shallow grave and a bullet in the back of their heads made Lauren dizzy, and she gripped the table in front of her, trying to take slow, deep breaths.

"There she is!" The cheerful voice of Arabella broke her concentration and Lauren looked up, earning another curse from the makeup artist. "Oh, my... you look so beautiful, honey. Doesn't she look beautiful, Clara?"

Clara's warm face appeared over Lauren's shoulder in the mirror. "You certainly do, Lauren. Wow, just- wow!" she giggled, clearly happy for the girl before her as she handed Lauren a glass of champagne. "Here, a toast!" Raising her glass, Clara intoned, "To a long and happy marriage. I hope you and Thomas are as in love as Michael and I am." Looking at the girl's innocent smile, Lauren felt terrible for her, wondering when Clara's day of reckoning would come.

“Clara, honey, would you go check with Jessica and see how close we are?” Arabella’s tone was still calm and sweet, and Lauren envied her unbreakable calm.

Smiling, a little confused, the girl did as she was told.

Kneeling down, the older woman took Lauren’s cold hands in hers. “Honey, are you all right?”

Staring at her, the terrified bride didn’t know what to say. That she was trapped in a nightmare that she couldn’t possibly comprehend? But Arabella seemed to understand, because she plunged onwards. “Here’s the thing-” she hesitated, trying to find the words, "Thomas is well-known for enjoying... force."

Lauren’s brow furrowed, trying to understand what Number One’s wife was telling her.

Squeezing the girl’s hands, Arabella plunged on. “I'm concerned that you could get hurt if you try to resist him... I know you don’t want this, but don’t give Thomas an excuse to force you. Do you understand?”

The new bride shook her head, trying to shake loose the words rattling around her brain.

Arabella leaned in closer, whispering in her ear. “I have some excellent, high-dose Xanax, I’ll give you a few, just take one when Thomas brings you home. You won’t… mind so much, all right?” She watched as the girl stared at her blankly, then turned to her right and promptly vomited into the sink.

“I’m sorry,” Lauren apologized to the wedding planner, who was at her side in a flash, “I hope I didn’t ruin the dress."

“Of course not!” Soothed Jessica, a wide, false comforting smile on her face. “Not at all." After shakily brushing her teeth and taking a tactfully offer breath mint, Lauren forced herself to keep upright on the stool in front of her makeup table. "There you go," soothed her planner. "Now," she continued briskly, "I want you to take this." Her palm opened to show a little blue pill. "Not to worry dear, most of my brides need a nice Xanax for their nerves, and more than one has thrown up from nerves." She chuckled, "I've learned to carry a toothbrush, toothpaste and some heavy-duty breath mints."

Trying not to smudge her eye makeup, Lauren carefully wiped away the moisture from her eyes. "Xanax? I'm not good with drugs, I don't, uh..."

Arabella leaned in. "It's just to relax you, poppet. It's not like my high-dose candy."

Lauren stared at the pill in Jessica's hand, then remembered the expression on Thomas's face when her father was shot. Nodding, she put the pill in her mouth and washed it down with champagne. A knock on the door sent them all upright, and Arabella cupped her face in her hands. "Don't be afraid. You can do this. Just be sweet and pretty and it will be over soon, all right?"

Nodding obediently, Lauren seated herself to let the makeup artist touch her up. Then, the crew forced her to stand in front of a full length mirror so they could gush and sigh as the photographer fluttered around her. Staring at her reflection, Lauren was amused. She'd always been pretty enough, even though her father scolded her to "Smarten up! Better makeup and a decent wardrobe, and there would be no one to compare with you!" But Lauren had always been the music geek, wandering around with resin from her bows on her fingertips and hair bound up in a ponytail. But here, she had to admit that Jessica had made her beautiful. Stunning. What a shame it was going to be wasted on a man who cared nothing for her.

By the time she was being led to the doors to the magnificent glass pavilion, Lauren could feel the warmth spreading through her muscles, her arms and legs, smoother and more coordinated. Her head wasn't pounding any more and she was even humming a little. Until her father stepped up to her. Reluctantly placing her hand on Frank's offered arm, Lauren took a deep breath, grateful for the effects of the blue pill.

If she'd been less heartbroken and terrified, she would have been amused at the deft way the wedding planner had settled the awkward "bride and groom" sides of the seating. All the Corporation lackeys were seated on the "bride's" side of the room, and a group of stern and ominous men and their wives were settled in the chairs on Thomas's side of the pavilion. For one, terrible moment, all she could hear was the Imperial March theme from "Star Wars" as she walked down the aisle, and she tried desperately not to break out into a laugh she was certain she wouldn't recover from. But Lauren focused on raising her chin and not looking at anyone, much less the beautiful, tall, and terrifying man clad perfectly in an Armani tux and waiting for her at the exquisite arch of flowers at the end of the room. Numbly offering her bouquet of baby blush roses and white lilies to Arabella, Lauren turned to Thomas, not even noticing her father slink away to sit in the front row.

Her soon-to-be husband raised one elegant brow to feel how hard her hands were shaking, but he did nothing but squeeze them gently as he turned them towards the priest who was beginning his speech about love and honoring each other. Lauren stared at a fixed point just behind the priest's ear until it was time to say their vows. "With this ring..." Thomas's voice was at its most beautiful, deep and nearly vibrating through her bones as he promised to love and honor her, slipping a huge and beautiful Tiffany diamond ring on to her finger. Lauren floundered for a moment until Arabella shoved a ring box into her hand.

Clearing her throat, the girl's soft, lovely voice repeated the vows as she slid the plain platinum ring on Thomas's broad finger. She wondered if he's chosen the rings, or if it was something else that the ever-efficient Jessica had put together. But then her new husband's hand was under her chin, raising it so she was forced to look into the polar blue of his gaze, feeling him hold her still as he brushed a slow, light kiss against her lips.

Thanks to her blue pill and another glass of champagne to drink to the several, overly flattering toasts made to the new couple, Lauren was able to stay calm throughout the reception. Nodding and smiling at the correct times, she drank, ate a bite of cake and sat silently next to the terrifying man who apparently now owned her. No one here knew this, but one of Lauren's best friends from her expensive, exclusive high school in Manhattan was a Russian immigrant, his surgeon father and professor mother quite happy to welcome a shy young friend of Yuri's at their dinner table. So she knew that the harsh men shaking Thomas's hand and squeezing hers painfully were telling him what a "sexy piece," he'd captured, that they wished they'd be there to "hear the screams from the marriage bed." No, she was smarter than to tell them they were utter pigs, though the tightness around Pine’s mouth made her wonder if he thought the same thing.

Then, finally the moment she’d been dreading most. And the tears in Arabella’s eyes and the look of pity she hated in Jessica’s expression meant it was time for the “happy bride and groom” to be on their way. To be alone and consummate the marriage. “Don't fight him, remember that!" Arabella whispered, “Don’t give him an excuse to hurt you.” Lauren eyed the older woman and wondered if that had been her wedding night with the scary as fuck Number One. She nodded and smiled, doing the same as Thomas took her hand and pulled her through the cheering crowd, barely acknowledging the magnificent fireworks exploding outside the Royal Opera House as she and her new husband made their escape.

 

“You didn’t eat anything at the reception. Are you hungry?”

Lauren startled at the sound of Pine’s voice from just behind her as he led her into his gleaming kitchen. His townhouse in North London was of course, beautiful. Four stories high in an exclusive neighborhood in Hampstead Heath, and decorated- of course- in exquisite, good taste. Standing uneasily in his chef's kitchen, looking at her reflection in the stainless steel appliances, she shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Thomas!" she hastily added, her tired brain trying to remember his rules.

Thomas was shrugging off his tuxedo jacket, and simply nodded. "Very well. Come with me."

Numbly following his perfectly-sculpted ass up the narrow stairs, Lauren tried to hoist her long skirts higher, praying she wouldn't trip over them. On the fourth floor, he opened a beautiful old oak door. "This is your music room." She looked inside to find her plethora of musical instruments carefully displayed on their stands. 

"Oh... thank you, Thomas." she wasn't expecting this small kindness and it threw her off balance. But she didn't have a chance to recover her equilibrium before he went down a flight and opened another door. 

"This is the master bedroom." Lauren paused at the door as he walked through, pulling his expensive cufflinks free from his tuxedo shirt and ignoring her. As he stripped off his shirt, displaying his beautiful musculature, he finally looked back, registering with irritation that his blushing bride was frozen in place. "Come here, Lauren." Ohhhh, that voice! She mourned internally. If only her new husband had the soul to match that beautiful voice, so lovely and deep, brimming with promise. Forcing her pretty Jimmy Choo-shod feet to cross the threshold, the girl walked numbly into the room.

"Turn around, darling."

She did as she was told, trying to repeat Arabella's advice in her mind, over and over as his long, warm fingers began undoing the long line of buttons that held her dress together. The bodice had been very tight, and Lauren breathed a small sigh of relief as she felt it loosen against her constricted ribs. But feeling his warm breath on her neck, those sure hands pulling away her dress- the girl clamped her arms tight against her sides and tried to hold it together.

 

Thomas, however, was finally relaxing, now that he was in the privacy of his own home and away from those Bratva bastards and the smirking, knowing leers of Numbers One and Three in his own organization. Lauren had performed beautifully today, nodding and smiling at the right times, keeping her mouth shut, He was feeling quite appreciative of her efforts and beginning to notice as he undressed her of how very lovely his new wife was. Really- when she'd walked down the aisle, there had been an audible gasp of appreciation when Lauren passed the guests by on her way to him. He'd selected the perfect girl, after all. Thomas chuckled internally. Number One had been so infuriated when he'd rejected all of his candidates, but he’d stil chosen a girl with unbreakable ties to the Corporation. Despite his hatred of being railroaded into this sham, the tall man undressing his new bride like a delicate, invaluable package was feeling his cock rise in interest at the sight of her long spine and the creamy, pale skin of Lauren's back. Bending to place a kiss against the base of her neck, he enjoyed the scent of her sweet, light perfume and the irresistible pheromones of fear and arousal. And then, his hands paused as he realized those slender shoulders were shaking. Lauren was crying soundlessly. Pulling his hands away from her dress, Thomas turned her around to face him.

Lauren was looking at his polished oak floor, but she swallowed hard and managed to whisper, "I can still- if you want to. I won't... I won't fight you." The tears were dripping off her cheeks and splashing on to his bedroom floor.

Thomas recoiled in disgust. Never _once_ had he ever tried to force a woman to- "What the bloody hell- do you think I want to _rape_ you? I'm quite sure you feel you've married a monster, but I'm not a rapist." Angrily, he stepped away. "Just... get in bed, Lauren. Go to sleep."

He could tell she tried to obey him, moving slowly towards the bed while keeping her arms in a death grip around her beautiful dress, still crying those awful, silent tears. With an irritable sigh, Thomas yanked out his own bathrobe and settled it around his bride's shoulders. "Drop your dress and put your arms through the sleeves, there's a good girl." Tying his robe around her, he helped Lauren into his high, wonderfully plush bed and settled her comfortably, making her drink a glass of water and a handing her a tissue, helplessly watching the tears stream silently down her reddened cheeks. Finally, he groaned and got into bed with his new wife, pulling the fluffy comforter over her and guiding her into his arms. The contact with the skin of his bare chest seemed to galvanize Lauren into pulling away, still crying but turning her face away from him.

Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, Thomas settled Lauren more securely against him as she twisted her shoulders, trying to distance herself without angering him. 

"Darling. I know you don't want to accept comfort from the man who is causing you misery," he finally offered, feeling her strain away even more at his words. "But I am all that you have right now, Lauren. So... just pretend I'm someone else. Let me take care of you."

The terrifying Second in Command of Jaguar Holdings knew his bride understood his suggestion when she sagged gratefully against him while she cried herself to sleep. Pine continued to hold her, rocking Lauren gently as he stared out the window at the streetlights outside.

 

And... tada! Diana Molloy's contribution to the Glorious Cock Coat of Arms:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing chapters as fast as my stubby, bloody fingers will type because I'm about to enter into a whole new challenging expansion at work. I wanted to update as much as I could first. I promise to update weekly- ideally on each story. But thank you for reading and please know how much joy your comments give me. I know you hate me for this wedding night, but I assure you Thomas will more than make up for it in the next chapter. Seriously.


	5. No Diggety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas gives quite a spanking. Also, dinner out, sinister Bratva lieutenants and dirty dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the talented Archy and Diana Molloy for their wonderful "Glorious Cock" crests, the proud standard-bearers of our lovely group.

 

 

 

"Glorious Cock" crest courtesy of Candy_Flaps' brilliant comment and [Archy's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archy3001/pseuds/Archy3001) artistry.

 

When Lauren woke the next morning, she was alone in that sumptuous bed. Sitting up and tying Thomas's robe more firmly around her, she thought for a moment. They'd come here... he'd showed her a room on the fourth floor where he'd had all her instruments set up... and then...

"Ugh!" Lauren buried her face in her hands. And then she'd lost it and started crying. And told him she expected him to rape her. The genuine surprise on his face made her wonder if Arabella knew him as well as she thought. Forehead wrinkling, Lauren wondered why Arabella had told her those things. She'd been quite intent on it, bringing it up twice. Was Kingsley's wife being as kind as she'd thought? But what would be the point of scaring Lauren further? Settling more comfortably against the fluffy plethora of pillows, she remembered meeting- (what did they call him? Number One?) last night at the wedding. She'd felt a chill shoot up her spine when the president of the Corporation took her hand in his cold one, smiling fondly with his lips while his coal-black eyes examined her like a particularly interesting species of insect. _He_ didn't like her, that was quite certain. Then her full lips firmed angrily. Rapist or not, her new husband forced her to marry him by threatening to kill Frank and then her if she didn't behave. Thomas Pine was _not_ a good man.

The sound of the front door closing drew Lauren out of her thoughts and with a stifled shriek, she leaped off the bed like a gazelle and tore into the bathroom, grabbing her overnight bag on the way. Hastily showered and dressed, she was buttoning up a pink striped shirt over her jeans when there was a knock on the door.

“Sorry! Coming!” Lauren trilled anxiously. Her hand tightened on the handle, she was dreading seeing Thomas this morning. Would he be scary and cold again? Kind, like last night?

As it turned out- neither. Strolling into the bathroom, he eyed her briefly while pulling off his sweaty shirt. “I’ll need to go to the office today,” his sonorous voice was calm, slightly indifferent. “I’m sure you’ll want the time to unpack and get settled,” Thomas was still facing her, talking casually as he toed off his running shoes and began pulling his shorts down. With an alarmed intake of breath, Lauren whirled and scampered from the bathroom, not hearing Thomas’s low chuckle as he started the shower.

Lauren was standing in the middle of Thomas's exquisite kitchen, uneasily examining the coffee maker and trying to figure out how to actually coax a cup from it when he entered the room, armored again in a beautifully tailored charcoal gray suit. Stepping up behind her, he reached one arm over her shoulder and pressed a button. Instantly the stainless steel monstrosity began obligingly percolating a wonderful-smelling brew. As she slid to the right to step away from him and ease towards the door, Thomas's back was to her, opening one of the cherrywood cabinets and pulling down two white mugs.

"Stay here."

His voice halted her instantly, one foot actually lifted to step from the room. Embarrassed that he could make her obey so effortlessly, Lauren gritted her teeth before replying, "I was just-"

"-running away, I know." Thomas turned to her, his polar gaze sweeping over her well-worn jeans. "Do you wear those abominations often?"

Brow furrowed, Lauren looked down, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Her flowered Toms? Her clothes?

"Those ratty jeans," he clarified. "They're inappropriate. I want to see you in dresses and skirts. Leggings and yoga pants only for actual physical exercise." His lovely new wife was staring at him, her mouth open in what was clearly infuriated surprise. Thomas refrained from chuckling, but he was, admittedly, enjoying breaking in his bride, just a bit.

“You’re actually trying to dictate what I _wear?”_ Lauren burst out angrily and unwisely. She realized the unwise element when Thomas straightened, strolling casually to her and edging her back against the wall by his proximity. Deliberately placing one hand, then the other against the wall behind her, her terrifying new spouse pressed his suited chest against hers. ‘He smells so _good,’_ the girl thought, dazed and trying to hide that he scared the hell out of her. Thomas’s chest was firm, and she could still smell his body wash from the shower.

“Look at me.”

When she did, her eyes had darkened to a furious violet, and Lauren’s chest was heaving angrily.

“This is where you say, ‘Yes, Thomas?’ Go ahead.” Pine was relentless. He knew the slightest softness now might make her think she actually had a say in this partnership- it was still so odd to say the word ‘marriage.’

“Yesss, Thomas?” Lauren not-quite hissed.

One big hand left the wall by her head and took her chin between his fingers. “Perhaps, darling, you are under the illusion that our union is a regular one, with bickering and disagreements and endless wrangling to get what you want. I will disabuse you of this notion immediately. You are a Corporation wife. You are here to be clever and pretty and act as a gracious hostess while keeping your mouth shut about anything related to Corporation business. I have a standard I expect you to uphold as my wife. Foolish or bad behavior from you reflects on me. And the Corporation. And more to the point- decisively reflects poorly on your father’s continued good health.” Thomas could see his warning was hitting home. The girl’s cheeks had been prettily flushed pink by her anger, and now they were white, her huge purple eyes gazing into his. “So, little one, when I give you an instruction, you are to listen and implement it without argument and with no pouting. Are we clear?”

Lauren's hands were clenched in fists so tight that her knuckles were white and her nails cut into her palm. She wasn't a particularly meek person. She was shy, not always comfortable with scrutiny from others, but her mother at least had raised her to speak up for herself. But here...

She jumped when Thomas suddenly shouted, "ARE. WE. CLEAR?"

"Yes!" Lauren yelled back. "YES, Thomas!" He was so close to her, his beautiful eyes the color of a frozen sea and glaring into hers, his warm, hard body pressing her so firmly into the expensive paint that she expected it to be embedded in her shirt. She instantly recognized that shouting back was a mistake when her new husband's mouth firmed into a straight line and he took her by her upper arms and led her to a chair. Seating himself, Thomas immediately pulled his rigid bride over his lap, one hand quickly gathering her wrists behind her back and holding them immobile while his other hand rested on her ass, keeping her down when the shocked girl tried to rise.

"What are you- what do you think you're DOING, Thomas!" Despite her furious growling, it never occured to Lauren that this horrible man would actually attempt to spank her- like she was an eight year old throwing a tantrum! In fact, the girl had never been spanked or slapped. Her mother Aurelia despised corporal punishment and Frank wasn't around enough to really care. 

“You’re not going to-”

Thomas yanked down her jeans with one firm jerk at the cloth, and then ran his rough palm appreciatively over her lace panties. Lauren snarled and tried to wiggle again as she felt the warmth of his hand over her buttocks. In fact, his palm was so big it easily cupped one cheek while his long fingers stroked the other.

“Yes, darling. I am,” Thomas commented, still enjoying her pert ass and rather looking forward to turning it red. He pulled her pretty undies down her thighs despite his wife’s furious struggles, “You are a bad girl. I do not tolerate bad girls, and this is what happens when you require correction.” To Lauren’s horror, he suddenly chuckled as he stroked the smooth skin of her ass. “Though correction is not always what will earn you a spanking. Sometimes, being a very good girl will have the same result. Just not as painful.”

Lauren was livid with anger and embarrassment. This horrible man had her over his lap and he was staring at her bare butt! He was touching it! She hated this smug, insufferable bastard!

“You smug, insufferable ba- OW, Thomas! Stop it!” His hand came down again, this time on her other cheek. “STOP IT! I’m not a child!” 

Thomas’s next strike was a resounding slap, managing to nail both soft globes with one harsh swat. “No,” he agreed amiably, “even a child wouldn’t be this spoiled and obstinate. This spanking will continue for as long as you fight me. Then, when you stop, you will receive 20 more. You will also count them, and thank me for each strike on this luscious arse of yours.”

“Like HELL I will! You’re- OW! Thomas will you cut this shit out- OW!”

Sliding his hand appreciatively over the rosy color of her bottom, Thomas kept his voice level. “Yes, baby. You will. And in addition, you will receive five more strikes for cursing. That is another vulgar habit you will end immediately.” His voice was even and calm, but his focus was entirely on the feel of her- the warmth radiating off her insulted bottom, the corresponding sting on his palm. Thomas had always preferred to administer a spanking with his hand- enjoying the intensity of his flesh striking that of his submissive. How the pain on his hand from striking the flesh resonated with their agony. And this girl- this stubborn, infuriating child- 'it must be the American in her,' he thought, 'never stopping her yowling and struggling.' His lips curved in what could be considered a fond smile as he slapped her ass again, enjoying Lauren's enraged shriek. She was still kicking those strong legs furiously, trying to dislodge herself from his lap and adamantly refusing to give in. Finally losing his patience, Thomas pulled her legs apart and landed a harsh blow on her nether lips, enjoying her strangled scream. Putting a hand in her blonde curls, he grabbed a fistful and turned her shocked face to meet his. "Perhaps harsher methods are required here. Very well. I shall commence slapping your tender, slick cunt instead of your arse until you comply. Would you prefer that?"

Lauren was so stunned she couldn't speak- her horrified brain couldn't even form a complete sentence. No one- NO ONE had EVER touched her there- much less slapping her- that, uh, part of her! And calling it the C-word like she was some sort of slut? This son of a- "AAAH!" the girl screamed this time, the slickness of her making her horrible, awful, vile husband's smack on her girl parts sting even worse.

Instantly abandoning her furious intent to not give into him, Lauren sobbed, "O- One, th- th- thankyouThomas!"

Raising one elegant brow, Pine smiled darkly. Excellent. Now he knew at least one of this stubborn creature's breaking points. "Very good, darling." His hand moved up to safer, but more sore territory and landed another slap on her crimson ass.

"Two!" Lauren gritted tearfully, hate radiating so strongly from her that he could almost taste it. "Uh- thank you Thomas!"

"Three!"

"Four!" 

And it went on until her ass was an excruciating shade of purple and she could no longer feel anything other than impact on her brutalized skin. 

“No!” Lauren sobbed when her evil spouse finally leaned her on one hip in his lap and pulled her arms around his neck. “Don’t- I hate you and you can’t-” Thomas ignored her as she felt his long arms around her, enveloping her and humming low in his throat as he rocked her. “You don’t get to try to comfort m-me!” the girl wept, still so overwhelmed that she couldn’t move her head from his shoulder. “You don’t care and you did this so it’s sick to pretend- I can’t-” Lauren finally gave up and sagged against him, weeping helplessly. She didn’t understand why she was clinging to this horrible man. She didn’t understand why he was pretending to be comforting after setting her ass on fire. And she most particularly didn’t understand why her center was even slicker after he’d slapped her there.

For his part, Thomas was fighting an unpleasantly alien sense of confusion. He hadn’t experienced such an emotion for years- after all, his entire focus was always centered on calculating every possible outcome, every move and counter-strike by both enemies and allies. He never failed to predict the result of any action. So, why was he feeling a sudden sense of anxiety for this stubborn, ridiculous girl crying like her heart was breaking? That if he didn’t convince her to behave more carefully, more obediently, that her life could be in danger? Of course, the formidable Number Two could not say any of these things- not yet- so he simply sighed and held his puzzling new wife more tightly, rocking her as she cried for the second day in a row.

When Lauren was finally calm, she tried to pull away from the strangely comforting grasp of her husband and hissed in pain as her abused ass met his lap. Standing up like he'd set her on fire, the girl backed away from him, clumsily trying to pull up her undies and jeans at the same time. Thomas didn't move or try to correct her, he simply sat comfortably as he watched her awkward efforts, which of course made Lauren hate him even more. He waited until his rebellious bride was clothed again and had furiously scrubbed all the tears off her cheeks before speaking. 

"As I've said, I'm heading into the office. I require you to be dressed properly for a dinner out, something suitable to meet some of our most important clients by 7pm. I will send a car for you. Your role tonight is to be demure and pretty- my blushing bride." Thomas stood and straightened his jacket, idly brushing a couple of her blonde hairs off his shoulder. "Our clients would expect us to be on our honeymoon-" he watched as she flushed angrily, turning her head away from him. "Lauren. Look at me." Her wet gaze met his immediately, and without thinking, Pine murmured, "Good girl..." noting with interest that she sucked in a breath harshly, flushing at his words. "These clients can be..." he seemed to be searching for the right words, and she watched him curiously, "...they can be coarse. Ignore them, blush sweetly and be my lovely wife. Can you do this?"

For her part, Lauren tried to force down the hysterical laugh trying to bubble up from her throat and come shrieking out of her mouth. _Do_ this? Be a monster’s bride and giggle and blush like a complete idiot? Swallowing heavily, she paused for a moment before answering him. “I’ll be ready,” she answered levelly. “I’ll make sure I don’t embarrass you.” When her gaze rose to his, it was empty of the kaleidoscope of emotion she usually radiated when around him. Strangely, Thomas felt the lack of it.

Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Very good. I’ll see you this evening.” He turned and left the house, pretending he didn’t hear her begin to cry again as he shut the front door.

Mechanically painting her face that night, Lauren tried to avoid thinking about how this had ever happened- trying to stop the hurricane of terror and confusion that had swamped her ever since this beautiful maniac had invaded her life. Her ability to power through what would have been her breaking point was honed after her mother died and falling apart was no longer an option. When Frank couldn’t “handle” planning her funeral and an 18 year old Lauren had to pick out a casket for her dead mother. 

You just had to pretend none of it really involved you- like it was a stranger experiencing these awful things and you were just a spectator. Finally zipping up an elegant black dress with sheer panels just above her breasts and around the hem of the flared skirt, the girl mechanically adjusted the neckline, her blank expression catching the light reflecting off her suitably large Tiffany diamond. Thinking of her time pinned on the lap of her terrifying and beautiful husband that morning, Lauren wondered again why she'd been so wet and slick down… there when he’d finished.

  
“Yра!” roared the burly man at the head of the table, and Thomas and Lauren repeated the phrase, raising their glasses for a toast. If it hadn’t been for the unfortunate reality of her present company, the girl would have been thrilled to be here. The Social Eating House was a brainchild of Gordon Ramsay’s protege Jason Atherton, the most sought-after restaurant in London. But their Corporation guests were not known for their nuance. She had learned this when her dark husband had smoothly reintroduced her to their Russian wedding guests. “Why are you not on your honeymoon?” leered Karl Romanof, one of the more brutal of the Bratva lieutenants, “You have such a lovely bride."

"Ah," chuckled Pine easily, "my sweet wife understands that I have obligations to our new, valued associates."

Tossing back another drink, Romanof looked Lauren up and down, insultingly lingering near her breasts. "Is this true,  _malen'kaya nevesta_? You will sit and wait for your husband to service you?"

Time seemed to stand still for Number Two and the rest of the table as his new wife hesitated. But then Lauren turned to look at Thomas, simpering adoringly. "Mr. Romanof, I am sure a man of your responsibilities understands that business must sometimes take precedence over... um... pleasure. But I have faith my dear husband will more than make up for the delay in our honeymoon." Smiling blandly during the harsh laughter that followed, she pressed further, “But you- I am sure there are little ones that miss their Papa?” There was dead silence for a moment. No one had ever thought to inquire after anything related to any human emotion with the lieutenant responsible for melting informants in a bathtub full of acid. But, there Karl was, pulling out his wallet in a careless gesture that made Corporation operatives slide their hands into their jackets, just touching their shoulder holster and waiting for a signal from Number Two to begin a firefight, regardless of the very public setting. But he was only flipping it open to show Lauren pictures of his three sons and a baby girl, while she praised their attractiveness and obvious strength. Thomas exchanged a glance with Kingsley, who'd been watching the interaction with great interest. Number One nodded to him, raised his glass of wine in a little toast to his Number Two and continued watching the bizarre photo session.

But the warm little moment was the only one of the evening, and after a while, Lauren found she was taking a gulp of wine every time one of the Bratva men made a lascivious "joke" about the newlyweds in Russian. Three glasses later, she realized this was a drinking game she couldn't win. And Thomas's mouth was tightening as well. He'd been watching his new wife flush and look down when the men talked about her in their language, and he began to suspect that she was quite aware of what they were saying. Which meant his slinky little minx could speak at least some Russian.

Clever girl.

When the laughing and toasts got too loud for the elegant restaurant, Thomas smoothly piled everyone into discreet black Mercedes' and brought them to a loud dance club where they could drink to boisterous toasts and roar with inappropriate laughter all they liked. Lauren and Number Three's fiancee sat together for moral support, and Clara eyed the men. While Thomas graciously ignored the most vile commentary from the Bratva operatives, Fassell reveled in it, laughing just as loudly while getting discreet translations. "Most of the business dinners I've gone to haven't been like this," Clara volunteered.

Lauren looked at her, squeezing her hand. "I guess some groups are just bigger partiers than others." For the first time, she felt the stirrings of concern for this girl, already feeling more world-weary and in the thick of the Corporation's dealings, like Arabella. The two chatted together and tried to ignore most of the conversation and shouting, until one of the older men slid across the couch, his thigh boldly touching Lauren's. 

"We should dance, you and I," he leered, attempting to look down the neckline of her dress.

Suddenly, Thomas was there, his hand taking Lauren's and lifting her up. "Ah, my apologies, _moy drook_ , but the first dance with my lovely bride belongs to me."

As Thomas pulled her to the dance floor, Lauren was rigid and as brittle as a cube of ice, visibly flinching when he ran one hand around her waist to the small of her back, pressing her into his body. One thick, muscled leg slid between her slimmer ones, easily resting her suddenly heated pelvis against his thigh and rubbing it gently with the elegant sway of his hips. The girl groaned internally, the music was slow, sultry and worse- it was a singer she loved- Chet Faker with a cover of a hip hop song.

 

“Shorty get down, good Lord

Baby got 'em open all over town

Strictly biz, don't play around

Cover much ground, got game by the pound

Getting paid is a forte

Each and every day, two player way

I can't get her out of my mind…”

 

He could _dance?_ There was no god, Lauren thought despairingly,  proven by the fact that her horrid husband could actually move those lean hips with all the grace of Maksim Chmerkovskiy. The slow roll of his pelvis against her suddenly heated one made her breath hitch in her chest, feeling the coiled grace of all that lean muscle and controlled strength around her.

 

“I think about the girl all the time

East side to the west side

Pushing phat rides, it's no surprise

She got tricks in the stash

Stacking up cash

Fast when it comes to the gas

By no means average

As long as she's got to have it

Baby, you're a perfect ten…”

 

Then, it was if the horrid, knowing chuckles of their Bratva guests melted away, along with the stares of Numbers One and Three from the Corporation. They were alone on that shadowy dance floor, feeling the throb and pulse of the music seep through her feet and tingle up her legs to her spine.

 

“I like the way you work it

No diggity,

I gotta bag it up

I like the way you work it

No diggity,

I gotta bag it up…”

 

This time, Lauren’s groan was audible. The way his hips thrust so seamlessly with the chorus, winding and twirling and carrying her suddenly loose body along with his. The girl's hands went to Thomas's lean waist, gripping him and one sliding up his back to try to stabilize herself, to get herself to focus again. But Lauren couldn't- her scary new husband simply felt so good- moving her gracefully along with him as they swirled and dipped among the anonymous, ghostly dancers around them. When the song faded away, she suddenly felt his mouth on hers, their second kiss ever and it was hot and slow and delicious, just like the music. Thomas continued exploring her mouth with lips and tongue until her legs felt shaky and she was pretty sure his arm was the only thing holding her up. Lauren gasped as he lifted his head, staring at her. His eyes were blazing- and cobalt blue. Taking her by the hand, Pine pulled her off the floor and headed for the exit.

"Where- wher'we going?" Lauren managed, following him and trying to keep up in her sky-high heels. 

Hustling her back to the Mercedes as the driver hastened to open the door, Thomas looked down at Lauren, kissing the girl until she was breathless. "Going? To my bed, little girl."

 

 

 

And, "Glorious Cock Crest" part deux, courtesy of clever [Diana Molloy.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianamolloy/pseuds/dianamolloy)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me!!! This couple's rhythm is different than my usual Jaguar Tom and OFC. The delayed wedding night will be worth it!
> 
> BTW: "No Diggety" is truly sex music, have a listen if you've not heard of Chet Faker: https://youtu.be/_cSJ06jWDO4


	6. The Wedding Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren is Deflowered. And enjoys every moment of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it took so long! I would murder a writer who got me up to the Big Moment and then went on vacation! But I'm back and promise a spate of updates on all my stories this weekend. I adore and appreciate you all.
> 
> Oh! Misreall has a new chapter up for her "Crimson Peak" gem, find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13706409/chapters/31484748

Diana Molloy's lovely contribution to the "Order of the Glorious Cock," as envisioned by the brilliant Candy_flaps

 

 

She should be stopping him.

Lauren knew that- she _did_ \- but Thomas had yanked her onto his lap the moment the door shut behind them, the privacy screen already tactfully raised and her thighs straddling his waist, her skirt rucked up to a scandalous degree and exposing her pretty black satin panties. Ironically, the gorgeous underwear was a gift from Arabella from her grim "Hen's Night," but Lauren had to admit- Number One's wife had spectacular taste in lingerie. She'd never expected Thomas to get a look at it, since he assured her he was no rapist and there was not a chance in the blazing pit of HELL that she would give herself willingly. But, there she was, finding her back arched as she rubbed shamelessly against the wool of Thomas's trousers and the hard cock beneath it.

Moaning a little, Lauren was pleased that his warm hands were sliding up her thighs, growling as he discovered the gossamer-thin stockings, held to her legs by lacy garters. There was something about the way his rough thumbs stroked appreciatively over the strip of bare skin between the girl’s stockings and panties that made her shudder.

"Why, darling girl," Thomas purred, "you're wrapped up so prettily for me."

Suddenly, Lauren felt herself twist and land on her back, her new husband looming over her and sliding down her body. Pine bent his head and breathed against the wet panel of the girl's fancy undies, enjoying her shudder as the warm air pushed against her pussy. Her little sigh ended in a startled yelp as her diabolical husband nipped one silky lip, just a bit, and the thin skin of her inner thigh.

She tensed, suddenly remembering who this dark, beautiful bastard was and that he was drawing down that scrap of silk that protected her girl parts from his scrutiny. She hated this man! He threatened her, he said he would kill- "Oh! Oh, my GOD what are you DOING?" She could feel his shoulders shake with laughter against her thighs, spread wide suddenly and her lean muscles tensing as he placed his mouth on her. After pointing his tongue and sliding it between her swelling lips, Thomas circled her channel, making Lauren gasp and twitch when he suddenly pressed it up inside her. Halfway coming to her senses, the girl put her hands in his thick hair, disordered into the beginning of what would be lovely curls if the man didn't keep his hair so short.

"Wh- wait- I..." She'd had several drinks, Lauren thought dazedly- well over her usual limit- but if she let him do this... she _knew_ what was happening, she would never be able to pretend she didn't agree because Thomas said he wasn't a rapist so if she said "no" he'd stop and then... Her wild thoughts began swirling sluggishly when her husband removed his face from her pussy- an action Lauren noted with some regret- and looked up at her with a devilish glint in his beautiful eyes. Not cold and pale as always- Pine's eyes were cobalt. Like the sea just before a storm.

Those eyes were knowing, damn him. Thomas rested his wet chin on her pubic bone and looked up at her in amusement. “Why baby, aren’t you enjoying yourself? Do let me take care of you. I’ll make you feel so.” He placed a kiss at the top of her wet slit, grinning at Lauren’s squeal. “Much.” This kiss was lower and included his tongue, which swirled around her hard little clitoris. Then, Thomas’s voice lowered to a growl as he purred, “Better...” then fastening his lips around the little nub and sucking.

Lauren could feel the darkness creeping in from the sides of her vision, making her gaze on the top of her husband's head with laser precision. The light shining off his dark hair, the pleased little groan he made with the utterly scandalous slurping sounds of his lips and tongue invading all the secret parts of her- closed off and hidden away from other men- the boys, really that she'd dated in high school and college. How this man- this terrible man had so easily demolished her defenses and swept them away as easily as her panties...

"Oh! Oh, GOD! Please don't... um..." Damn him! Lauren could feel her orgasm start at the base of her spine, in her legs, shaking as they tried to tighten against the barrier of this man with his face buried between them. She'd never come before, aside from her own hand, nervous and uncomfortable but loving the warmth and how her muscles twisted and twitched under his hateful, certain mouth. It wasn't a shock to her that this beautiful, terrifying man knew his way around a woman's private parts. And she was so close- just let him and maybe later she could ask him questions about-

"Mr. Pine?" The driver's voice was calm, carefully neutral, "We've arrived, sir."

Easily pulling down her skirt and helping his dazed bride upright, Thomas regally answered, "Very well. Thank you, Stevens."

 

He looked his usual self, the handsome, urbane Number Two, graciously escorting his unsteady bride out of the Mercedes and sending the Corporation driver on his way. But as Thomas hustled Lauren up the stairs and through his decorous, shiny black front door, his mind was seething with scenarios and trying to plot out the evening. 'Let's be honest,' he thought, looking at her flushed cheeks with a wry amusement, 'the girl is a wild card.' Even the "good girls" had thrown themselves at Pine over the years. But he rarely wasted time on a woman who didn't know exactly what she was in for when she said 'yes' to him. And he'd promised this sweet girl he wouldn't force her, even though the more feral part of him was beginning to regret that assurance.  So it was, perhaps, a bit out of character for Thomas to shut the door and then pin his bride against it with the hard length of his body, pulling her arms above her head and holding them in his long fingers. Forcing himself to be still for a moment, Pine noted her wide lavender eyes and rapid heartbeat. And also, with great satisfaction, that she didn’t look away from his intent gaze or flinch when his mouth descended on hers again. In fact, Lauren moaned quite sweetly when his free hand traveled down to take hold of her thigh and hoist her aggressively against his hips and the hard press of his cock.

"So lovely, little girl..." Pine crooned, kissing along her jawline and luxuriously moving his pelvis against his wife's damp center. "I want to see you in our bed, hair spread out across the pillows, coming for me and as beautiful as you were that night, playing your cello and speaking so passionately of Bob Marley." For one, terrible second he thought he'd miscalculated and reminded his sweet captive of their arrangement. Lauren pulled back searching his face with her mouth wet and open. He thought she was beautiful when she _played?_  

Men had often complimented Lauren, aware of her father's sizeable wealth or aroused by her lovely face. So, she'd heard most of the lines about her "knockout eyes," or her "sweet ass," or the worst: “that beautiful mouth would look even better wrapped around my dick!”  But her secret truth was that the deepest part of her shined brightest when she played, when her hands translated the language of the universe and it flowed through her and into her instrument. And that was how her terrifying new husband viewed her beauty? Through her music? With a needy little moan, the girl pushed against him, arching her breasts into his hard chest and sucking his tongue back into her mouth.

Eye briefly rolling back in his head, Thomas absently thanked whatever force in the cosmos that granted him this favor. As much as he wanted to yank down his zipper and plunge into this delicious little girl, he knew she was a virgin. Treating her crudely for her first time would not make for a good morning after. And he already knew he would want his bride again. Many times. Lifting her and wrapping Lauren's legs around him, Thomas fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her mouth to his as he swiftly climbed the stairs to the third floor. 'Why the _fuck,'_ he thought dimly, 'did I ever agree to anything other than a ground floor master bedroom? Idiot!' Still, the man wasn't even breathing heavily when he shoved open his bedroom door and more or less flung Lauren on to her back on his comfortable bed. Flipping up her skirt again, Thomas paused to look at the girl's wide eyes.

"Just one more taste, darling. Then I'll take care of my little girl."

The words should not have aroused her the way they did, Lauren groaned internally. For christ's sake, she was a grown up! She had a college degree and she- oh, sweetbabyjesus he was doing that thing with his tongue again, and- Thomas raised above her, licking his lips and laughing as the poor girl hid her face in her hands. When she peeked between her fingers, her scary new husband was already naked and sliding the zipper down the back of her dress. For a moment, her elbows instinctively clamped against her sides again, holding the dress immobile the way she had the night before. Pine's hands stilled, his long fingers stroking along the bare skin of her back. He took a deep breath, and licked his lips again.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I..." she did, right? The terrifying Number Two who made her marry him? The one whose sure hands were stroking and caressing her skin appreciatively, but not pulling at her dress? Lauren shook her head. "I don't... I'm..."

And then he said the magic words. Leaning closer, Thomas groaned internally, then spoke calmly, evenly. "This is your choice, Lauren. I will not take it from you."

He had her. It was maybe the only thing in her new life where she had any choice, and Lauren knew it. And yet, her dark and beautiful husband gave it to her. Sighing, she leaned in and kissed his firm mouth again, enjoying the faint scrape of his five o’clock shadow and that sleek, sinuous tongue that rewarded her for letting her dress fall by stroking along her jaw and into that embarrassingly sensitive spot under her ear. He chuckled, low and a bit smug, at her shudder, tickling the skin again before biting down her neck as he put her back against the pillows.

She _was_  such a pretty package, Pine thought as he finished undressing his new wife. Beautiful, spirited, intelligent. Falling into his hands at just the perfect moment and crushing Number One’s plans while fulfilling his own. He would make their first time as romantic and satisfying as he could. It had been so long since he’d been gentle with a woman... Angling his hips along the soft skin of her thighs, he enjoyed her little groan as his uncomfortably stiff cock stroked along her, leaving a cool trail of slick behind. His mouth was hot- fastening greedily on to one breast and then the other, sweet, slow sucks and then a sharp nip or two. Lauren tensed and relaxed, then tensed again, trying to participate and barely keeping track of where his hands and mouth were on her body.

And then, Lauren discovered her new husband’s most deadly weapon. His voice. The Voice, if she needed to be descriptive, as he chuckled into her ear. “Hmmmm…” his moan purred along her nerve endings, sending up a shock of goosebumps and making the girl desperately stifle a whimper. “Such a lovely surprise you’ve turned out to be, darling. Sweet and delicious…” he bent his head and ran his patrician nose along her collarbone. “Who knew that such a very good girl could be so irresistible? I am using all my self control to keep from plunging into that tender pussy, trying to be a _gentleman.”_ Pine laughed a little unkindly as his bride shook her head with a frown. “I am not a gentleman, this is true…” He leaned back to enjoy her rapid pulse and the sweet, pink flush spreading over her chest and up her throat. Taking her hand, he put it around his cock, groaning again as Lauren gasped and stiffened. “Shhh… be my good girl and I will make it all better. You want to come, don’t you? You need to come.” Stopping all movement, Thomas hovered over her like a murky and dangerous angel until his bride reluctantly opened her eyes to look at him.

"Tell me what you want. Be my good girl."

Frustrated beyond reason, equal parts terrified and aroused by this stunning man, Lauren's eyes filled with helpless tears, turning them an exquisite shade of lilac. She watched Thomas take a deep breath, almost a groan as he watched her. "I don't have any... I don't know if I'm any good," she finally managed, too overcome to be anything but honest.

Impossibly, the thick organ she was still holding on to seemed to grow harder, and his dark head dipped to kiss her breast again before recovering. "Such a sweet, good girl for me," Thomas praised hoarsely. "Let me do all the work." Settling more comfortably between her thighs, his hand moved his cock from his wife’s shaking fingers to her wet center, idly running it up and down her slippery opening. When he circled her clit, Lauren yelped, making him grin and do it again, and again until his innocent bride was the one to raise her hips and try to guide him inside her. "Ah- ah!" Thomas chided, making her groan with frustration. "Such an impatient little thing..." Nonetheless, he was at the end of his rope as well, so he carefully positioned the broad head of his cock at her entrance and paused, surprising himself. The moment seemed to contain a significance he'd not felt before, this first breaching of his wife. The only man to have her. The only man who would ever _have_ her. Wildly aroused by the realization, Pine pushed his agile hips forward, slowly and enjoying the look of surprise and then shock in Lauren's eyes as her silky walls stubbornly resisted him, only to finally spread open slowly and allow him passage. "Such a good girl," he gritted, "let me in..." Thomas used his deepest, most persuasive tone, "let me in now, and I'll make it all better." His bride's eyes squeezed shut, but he couldn't stop watching the expressions run across her mobile features as he braced his feet against the walnut footboard of his bed and pushed deeper, taking her so much more slowly than he'd like. There was a vaguely feral undercurrent urging him to shove into his property- mark her- fuck her! But Thomas managed to keep his leisurely pace, stroking along her until a quick push shoved him past the thin tissue barrier that kept her from being his. Aside from a pained gasp, Lauren didn't make a sound as he moved up inside her, using the strength of his hips to widen her. One hand moved down to her clitoris, gently stroking and teasing along the bit of flesh and nerves to distract her. Thomas was rewarded with another gush of slick, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek, murmuring how beautiful she was- how lovely and perfect his bride- how dearly he wanted to pound into her like a greedy bastard. 

Lauren's eyes were still tightly shut until she felt his warm hand caress the skin just under her belly button.

"Can you feel me, sweet wife? I'm in you all the way. To the hilt." Thomas pressed his fingers against her abdomen, and her breath left her in a rush, feeling the hot press of him inside and the carnal push of him without. As his hips began moving, Lauren's eyes opened and stared into his intent gaze, as shy as it made her to watch him carefully categorize her response, the embarrassingly eager moisture that eased the way for his thick shaft to push faster along her, even enjoying how the painful tingling along her hamstrings drew her knees up against his ribs and pressing tight, toes actually pointing like a ballerina's from the sensations sending up fireworks along her nerve endings. As one hand slid to the small of her back to arch her against the slide of his cock, Thomas kept his other hand on her abdomen, grinning darkly as he gloated, "Ah. I can feel you, sweet girl. Here-" he pushed down on her stomach and Lauren gasped as her spine arched even tighter, which made her uncomfortably stretched pussy tighten involuntarily. Part of her enjoyed the sudden groan from her husband, who began pistoning faster inside her, striking like a match along nerve endings and lighting sparks that made her hips rise and try to help him. "-And here," he managed, swirling his hips to push against the tender tip of her cervix. "No further, babygirl, not tonight. But someday you will enjoy the pain of me pushing past and into your womb. You have no idea-" Lauren cried out as her dark husband's cock suddenly pulsed against her, "-how very deep I can be inside you."

Feeling his bride's fingers dig into the muscles in his back, Thomas chuckled and moved faster, dipping his hips to drive into Lauren's pussy and scoop luxuriously out, pushing the head of him along her painfully swollen nerves. "You want to let go, don't you, baby? All this sweet slick around me..." She dimly felt his fingers bracket the thickness of his cock breaching her, sliding along her painfully stretched entry and stroking her wetness along their joining.

This loosed a desperate whimper from his bride's clenched lips, hearing Thomas continue to torment her with his heated cock and his words, making her certain she could come solely from that guttural, knowing tone. "Wouldn't you like to come, sweet Lauren? Wouldn't you like to flood me, make us all damp and filthy? Now, baby, come for me now-" The last was delivered between clenched teeth, and her frightening husband's gentleness was suddenly gone, rearing above her and driving greedily through the tense squeeze of her silky walls and fucking into her- sealing them with sweat and slick and suddenly with a scream as Lauren almost scared herself by hearing the wail come out of her good girl mouth as she loudly joined Thomas in a finish so intense that it was actually painful- but she still squeezed against his spurting cock and clung to his broad back, holding on as tightly as she could as they came and flooded and slid along each other in a greedy gush of arousal and satisfaction. In fact, Pine cruelly continued to stroke inside her quaking walls to keep her orgasm going until Lauren groaned pitifully and begged him to stop. This time, his voice didn't sound as calculated, as assured as Thomas moaned into her ear, "Such a very good girl. Your Sir is so pleased with you."

Lauren puzzled over what that meant as he gently pulled from her, kissing her as she whimpered and returning with a warm cloth to swipe gently along all the wet places on her, drying her and making the girl drink one of those always-available bottles of water before curling up behind her and letting her settle into his arm, possessively draped over her waist. Vaguely promising herself to think this whole mess over in the morning, Lauren wiggled her still-sore buttocks comfortably into the hollow of his groin and fell asleep.

 

 

Archy's beautiful contribution to the "Order of the Glorious Cock," as suggested by Candy_flaps


	7. The Light Of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren questions who she has become. And Thomas is infuriatingly indifferent to her moral dilemma.

 

If Lauren had been in any shape to think about the following morning during her post-coital bliss, it would have ruined it for her. So, it was fortunate for her happy sex buzz that she fell asleep before anticipating having to face her terrifying husband in the light of day.

When the sun slanted across her face the next morning, Lauren stretched sleepily, halting the movement in a hurry when she felt the pull and the soreness in her lower half. Even her thighs hurt, and her pelvis was on fire. Why was she so- ‘Oh, my god!’ Her eyes flew open. ‘I had sex with Thomas!’ she thought. ‘I had sex and I enjoyed it! What kind of a sleazy human being has an orgasm with the organized crime monster who made her marry him?’ Burying her face in her hands, the girl wished she could disappear. Reappear somewhere else. Anywhere else. Far away, though. Far enough away that the terrible knowing gaze of Thomas Pine couldn't find her. Knowing this was sadly unrealistic, she finally took a deep breath, holding it for a moment. The breath expelled from her in a rush when she spotted a note leaning against the lamp on her bedside table in Thomas's distinctive handwriting.

"Lovely.

I headed into the office for an early meeting. I will require you at a dinner meeting before our Russian guests fly out. Romanof in particular was keen to say goodbye. You were very charming last night.

And at dinner as well.

T."

Her face flaming at his suggestive praise, Lauren angrily kicked the rest of the covers off the bed. Great. Wasn't _she_ a "full-service" wife? Then, just to make the mortification of her morning complete, she was greeted with the red smears of her virginity staining Thomas’s expensive sheets.

"Mom would be _so_ proud," she mumbled before beginning to cry. She missed her mother so much. Aurelia was always the parent Frank never was- caring and kind. Even as a snotty teenager, Lauren always knew her mother loved her, always knew her advice about her adolescent drama was sound. And now she was gone and Lauren had no one to talk to. No one she could trust, anyway. Angrily gathering up the sheets, she threw them into the dirty clothes hamper, finding the linen closet and re-making the bed with fresh sheets. "Let's not give Thomas any more ammunition to use against me," she hissed bitterly. "The fact that he just deflowered like, the last virgin in England over the age of 16? That should make me just about as pathetic as humanly possible."

The girl angrily practiced her cello and violin, and finally with her beloved bass guitar turned up as high as she dared, enjoying the windows actually rattling in the fourth floor conservatory that her confusing spouse had set up for her. It was a surprisingly thoughtful move- a private space to practice and all her many instruments laid out respectfully. It was something only a musician- or someone who understood the power of music- would even think to do. Hardening her heart, Lauren decided to step out and go for a run. It was a good time to get to know her new neighborhood, where to get coffee in the morning, maybe a nice park… To her fury, Broken Nose Guy stepped out of a sedan as she did some quick stretches in front of Thomas’s beautiful house.

“Mrs. Pine,” he said calmly. “Good morning.”

"Don't call me that!" Lauren snapped at him instinctively before recoiling. She was a nice girl, a kind person- and she was being rude to another "employee" who was just doing his job. 

Like her.

Forcing herself not to cry, she nodded stiffly. "I'm... going for a run. I'll stay on the street where you can follow me." 

Broken Nose Guy was carefully expressionless. "Very well. We’ll be just behind you, should you need assistance."

Lauren frowned. "There's more than one of you? What exactly do you think I'll do?"

This time, the well-dressed thug's eyes met hers with just a hint of a smirk. "That is the problem, Mrs. Pine- ah, Miss Lauren. We have no idea."

She snorted inelegantly. "I'm the wild card. In a 'corporate structure' such as this..." she made the mocking quotation gesture with her fingers, "I'm the thing you can't predict." Without waiting for his answer, Lauren angrily turned up the music on her phone and began pounding the pavement with her running shoes as if the cement had insulted her personally. She ran and ran, trying to outpace her thoughts, her fear and embarrassment and the humiliation of having been even more vulnerable in front of this terrifying, beautiful man. Finally succumbing to the raw ache between her legs, Lauren sullenly slowed down outside a small coffee house. It looked very pleasant and low-key, and she could see trays of delightfully massive baked goods behind the glass counter. Exactly her sort of place.

It was darker and cool inside the little shop and Lauren breathed in the lovely scent of caffeine and the freshly baked muffins. Closing her eyes and settling her jangled nerves, she looked at the chalk-drawn menu before turning around and walking to the black BMW that followed her all morning. Tapping on the heavily-shaded window, she waited for a moment before it drew down slowly. The carefully expressionless face of Broken Nose Guy gazed out at her.

"Yes, Miss Lauren?"

She couldn't see the man in the passenger seat, shrouded in the shadowed side of the car, and she chose to ignore him. One professional shooter at a time. "I want you to come... um... have coffee with me." The polite expression of incredulity on his battered face was similar to the one he would have offered if his boss's wife has suggested he juggle a passel of cats, but he nodded slowly. With a meaningful glare to the other man in the car, Broken Nose Guy exited the BMW and looked at the determined girl. Watching him stare down at her with a vague expression of discomfort, Lauren finally ventured, "So, what do you drink?"

Of course she was not surprised when he said firmly, "Coffee. Black. No cream or sugar. Just... coffee."

Finally making the bulky man sit down at the ridiculously little cafe table outside on the deck, the girl watched with some amusement as the waitress brought him a gigantic muffin. Her unwilling bodyguard poked at it carefully with a fork for a moment as she drank her chai tea latte. "It won't explode, you know," she finally offered, "it's just a crumpet."

The man, of course, was not mollified by her assurance. Sighing, Lauren took a bite of her own, chewing ostentatiously. She swallowed down the first smile of the morning watching this terrifying creature nibble a corner of the sweet as if it might blow up in his face.

Finally gathering up her courage, she finally asked, "Am I the first... uh... I dunno, 'responsibility' that Mr. Pine saddled you with?"

Not a flicker of expression crossed the man's face. "I am not at liberty to comment, Mrs. P- Miss Lauren."

Rolling her eyes, the girl sighed. "Of course." Taking a sip of her chai latte, she pondered what she could ask this man. "So, are you stuck with me?"

Her Corporation shadow looked at her quizzically. "I beg your pardon?"

Gesturing uselessly with her long, graceful hands, Lauren struggled for the right questions. "Instead of doing exotic, uh, Corporation-based things, are you going to be stuck following me around so I don't do anything stupid?"

He was turning his coffee cup- black, no cream or sugar- around in his blocky hands. "You are a valued... asset of the Corporation, Miss Lauren. You are also an innocent. You may not be aware of the... uh... complications of corporate life. My assignment is to be certain of your safety."

Lauren's brow furrowed. "So you have to be my babysitter? Sorry, dude."

For the first time, she saw something other than stoic irritation on Broken Nose Guy's face. His tight features relaxed slightly. "I volunteered for this position, Miss Lauren."

She had to admit, she was shocked. "Why?" Lauren blurted, "Why would you do that? I'm going to bore you half to death." She leaned forward earnestly, "I'm incredibly not exciting, seriously."

There was a small cough from the man that might possibly be characterized as a rusty little chuckle. "And I would like to keep it that way." He looked at the girl's confused face. "You don't belong in this world. Mr. Pine is decisively interested in keeping you as apart from it as possible. As am I." There was more. That Broken Nose Guy used to have children. Three of them. He hadn't seen them for years. The wife had up and left without a trace, even with his more advantageous search skills. He thought of them all the time, missed them desperately. And just as desperately grateful they weren't here to see what he'd become. Not that he would ever say any of this to Number Two's new wife. What on earth had possessed the man to marry someone so ridiculously naive and inexperienced? 

Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Lauren stared at him as she finished her muffin. "What's your name?" she asked suddenly.

Broken Nose Guy stared at her for a moment. "Charles," he admitted finally, "Charles Straker."

"Can I call you Chuck?" his new charge asked.

Finishing his coffee, Broken Nose Guy said, "No."

 

The new Mrs. Thomas Pine ran home, absently keeping to central streets so the BMW following her could keep pace easily. Finally pausing in front of Thomas's ('not hers,' she reminded herself sternly, 'the Crime Lord's house,') she nodded to the car idling alongside her. "Bye, Chuck!" she called, "I'm in for the rest of the day!"

The man in the passenger side of the car looked at Broken Nose Guy. "Did she just call you Chuck?"

Putting the car in park and turning it off, Charles settled himself more comfortably. "No."

 

It was late afternoon when Lauren's shiny new iPhone 'pinged' with a text from her groom. "Be ready by 7. Straker will be waiting for you in front of the house. Wear something elegant, similar to last night. T." Holding the phone, Lauren squeezed it a little too hard, putting a ripple in the screen. Thumbs finally moving over the buttons, she gritted her teeth against everything she wanted to say to this arrogant British asshole.

"Fine."

Pausing for a moment, she knew it could be read as churlish. And Lauren did not want another spanking. Though... her treacherous thighs tightened against a tingle in her lower parts, remembering being over Pine's lap. Sighing, she added to the text, "I'll be ready."

Getting ready in the gleaming white of the master bathroom, the girl kept looking at the big bed, neatly made up with fresh sheets and looking completely innocent. She was still utterly confounded by her nearly instant capitulation to that horrible man- the man who terrified her and shot her father- admittedly, not really an emotionally scarring moment- to force her to do what he wanted. But even being terrifying, he had shown her kindness when she'd broken down. Gave her the choice to sleep with him or not. He'd even pulled back- and most flatteringly, made it look like an effort- when she'd hesitated. "It is your choice," he'd said to her, "I will not take it from you." Her hand paused over one cheekbone with a brush laden with bronzer. What did that make her? To give her virginity to this man? To  _enjoy_ it? Finally not able to spend one more brain-frying moment trying to understand herself, Lauren sighed and finished getting dressed. This time, she was wearing a strappy red silk dress with a long, swishing skirt that went just over her knees. She left her hair down, suddenly remembering vividly how it felt to have his big fist in her blonde curls, moving her head back and forth to meet his lips. She'd struggled over what she wore underneath the dress far longer than anything else. If she wore more of that flossy lingerie from her hellish "Hen Party," it was admitting she wanted more of what they'd shared the night before. But if she didn't... did it make her look weak? Scared of Thomas? Finally unable to bear one more moment of questioning herself, Lauren went bare-legged, skipping the hose and garters, but pulled on the racy red and black bra and panty set. There. Not a message one way or another. Sort of.

 

To her surprise, her scary new husband was actually waiting outside for her as the Corporation car pulled up to the restaurant. It was one of the clever new creations from a chef raised in his youth on going to raves in random warehouses, who insisted on catering a new location every week. Gingerly taking the broad hand presented to pull her from the car, Lauren eyed the old shoe factory perched on the Thames. "Let me guess. Chef Gustav?"

His brow rose with a barest hint of surprise and respect, but Thomas nodded. "Several of the Russians are terrible food snobs- I was quite surprised as well. There are constant mentions of "Фарм на стол," and "блюда местной кухни." Lauren burst out laughing before suddenly realizing Thomas had spoken the phrases in perfect Russian. A language she would not be expected to understand. Trying to stifle her chuckles, she shrugged innocently. 

"Sorry... I don't know what you said, but it sounded so funny. Especially following the vision of the Bratva as "food sno-"

Thomas's arm was suddenly a cruel vise around her waist and he yanked her into an alcove. Lauren began shuddering when his mouth pressed against her ear. "You will _never_ say that word again. Simply speaking it out loud is enough to have you killed." He felt her body trembling violently, but he forced himself to continue. Shaking her roughly, Pine snarled, "Do you _understand?_ Answer me!" Some unfamiliar part of him cringed a bit when he heard her swallow a terrified sob.

"Y-Yes." Lauren drew in a deep breath, trying not to pull away from his painful grip on her body. "I understand. Not a word."

Forcing down the uncomfortable feeling of regret, knowing that all the ground they'd made the night before was suddenly demolished, Thomas drew in a breath and loosened his grip. "Very good. Now be a good girl and behave nicely." He could feel his bride pull away from him in an almost visceral way, though she didn't move a muscle. 

"Of course." It was the last thing she said to him for the rest of the evening. Lauren smiled, nodded, even laughed on occasion at a joke in their guests’ accented English. This was, after all, not unfamiliar to her. She'd been raised attending her grandfather's- then her father's boring-as-shit corporate dinners, expected to be a delightful little prodigy designed to make Frank look even more impressive. She went back into the old motions of keeping her hands in her lap, ankles crossed prettily and appearing to listen intently to the guest next to her and remembering small details that would make them feel special, make them feel important. This made her unfortunately excellent memory travel back to other times when this charming trait was misunderstood, but Lauren shoved the ugly images down and mechanically played her part. Her life depended on it.

To her surprise, Romanof wasn't the problem tonight. Her interest in his children the night before had suddenly relegated her to "honored wife and daughter" status, and his conversation was nothing but fatherly. In fact, when a younger, brash lieutenant took advantage of Pine's absence from the table to take a call as a moment to leer at Lauren with a few suggestive phrases, it was the older Russian who snarled at the man to "Shut the fuck up- or I shall cut your dick off and choke you with it!" To his approval, Pine's new wife simply turned to him and deftly changed the subject. He nodded, answering her questions and getting the strained atmosphere of the table back to normal. This girl- she was young, but she was a good fit for the murderous Number Two. Thomas may be an arrogant Мудак, but he was a smart one.

So, Thomas knew nothing of the ugly moment with the younger Russian. He simply returned to the table to see his lovely wife deep in conversation with the blood-soaked Romanof as Number One regarded the both of them with mild surprise. His pride in his beautiful choice of a bride rose higher. Clever girl.

There was no dancing that night to soften Lauren's rage and terror. No sudden surge of protectiveness to send Thomas out of his urbane, controlled self. So when the young couple bid goodnight to Romanof and the rest of the terrifying Bratva and were ferried home, Lauren pressed herself as tightly as she could to her car door and her dark husband observed the movement expressionlessly. Very well. The girl was sulking after her correction for her loose lips. No matter. He was quite confident of his ability to loosen her thighs as easily as her mouth. But back in Hampstead Heath, Lauren swiftly exited the BMW and went for the stairs.

She paused and stiffened as Pine's rough fingers trailed down her back. "Ready for bed so soon, little girl?"

Thomas knew it was the worst possible thing to say when it was clear his new wife stifled a shudder. "No, I'm not... sleepy. We have our first big dress rehearsal next week. I'm going to practice. But I'll be quiet, okay?" He leaned in, trying to look at her face, lowered and turned away from him. When Lauren refused his fingers on her chin to turn and look at him, he dropped his hand.

"Very well. Do not stay up all night."

But Lauren was already rapidly climbing the stairs, not looking back. "Of course. I'll be quiet. Goodnight."

 

Nonetheless, Thomas laid awake for several hours longer, listening to her fierce movements in "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor." He recognized the piece from Bach, and vaguely admired the way his reluctant bride attacked the piece, over and over until she conquered it's complexity and forced it into a ribbon of perfection, streaming from her cello. Finally rubbing his throbbing temples and groaning, he fell asleep.

 

 

Фарм на стол - "farm to table"

блюда местной кухни - "locally sourced cusine"

Мудак - asshole 

 

And from the diabolical Diana Molloy: 

 


	8. A Carnal Symphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren discovers hoping Thomas will just roll over and fall asleep is inadequate protection from his delicious and filthy intent. Also, muffins and coffee, just not with Chuck.

From the lovely and talented Diana Molloy

 

When Thomas opened his eyes again, he knew two things at once- first, it was early morning- 2:15 by the glow of his stainless steel Rolex, and secondly, he was still alone in his suddenly oversized bed. His dark brows drew together. Did his sweet bride panic and run? Did he terrify her enough to flee, thinking her utterly useless father’s life was worth sacrificing for her freedom? Briefly, he was filled with respect for her. Frank Marsh _was_  worthless. He’d given up his only child in a heartbeat. He should be fucked over in the most heartless possible way. Still, Thomas sat up, putting his feet on the floor and rubbing his eyes. Number Two was not a betting man. He was too obsessed with the odds and the outcomes and the probabilities of any given situation to do something as ludicrous as guessing what might have happened. His lovely new wife would be upstairs, sleeping uncomfortably in the only chair in her new conservatory, rather than getting into bed with her monstrous spouse. In fact, Thomas chuckled as he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor of his house, she would lie half-awake all night, rather than be in the same room as the man who’d given her three orgasms the night before, no matter how much he frightened or infuriated her. His Lauren- his pace slowed for a moment- when did she become _his_ Lauren? Nonetheless, she was his. His Lauren was a good girl. She’d agreed to this unfortunate transaction to save the old man’s life in the first place. His Lauren was the kind of good girl who kept her promises. 

Of course, Pine was correct. His bride was curled in an awkward little bundle, one hand still holding her cello’s bow. He towered over her for a moment, looking over the graceful lines of her, even contorted to fit in the leather club chair. Something twinged in his chest, seeing the dried tear tracks on her cheek. Even while terrifying her after her foolish “Bratva” comment, Lauren had kept her composure. He’d disliked feeling her curl away from him, the terror in her lavender gaze... Thomas idly smoothed her blonde hair off her forehead. He’d seen a lavender field in Provence, France once. Not anywhere as beautiful as his new wife’s eyes. As much as he appreciated her courage, but he couldn’t allow her to spout off about the Bratva. She belonged to him now. Lauren was his responsibility and no one- NO ONE would be allowed to hurt her. Leaning down, Pine picked her up, holding the girl to his chest as he walked back down to their bedroom.

Perversely, he wanted to stain his snowy-white sheets with her again, take his bride’s virginity twice. Thomas had actually chuckled unkindly when he’d pulled back his down comforter that night to see the linens changed. As if he wouldn’t know she’d been untouched. As if he wouldn’t know everything there was to know about this beautiful, excellent selection as his wife.

Thomas carefully undressed Lauren, unsurprised that she didn't awaken. The combination of the freefall from adrenalin, her anger and four glasses of wine had made sturdier souls than her sleep like the dead. (There were one or two that specifically ended up that way at his hand, he thought, but that was a memory for another time.) His beautiful mouth shaped into a knowing grin when Thomas slipped off her dress, seeing the pretty matching undies. They looked delicious, like something he'd like to remove from her with his teeth. In fact, all that smooth skin was luscious and tempting. Bending over her on the bed, the man ran his cool mouth over one collarbone, and then the other, his tongue dipping into the hollows above them- tasting his bride's warm skin. She smelled of peppermint from the soap she loved, with a dash of rosin from her bow, the rosemary scent of her shampoo and the faintest fruity tones of the good wine they'd had with dinner in the old shoe factory. Groaning just slightly, Thomas was struck with the desire to lick her all over, like a big cat. Instead, he settled for gently nudging her breast up and free from the red and black bra, suckling her pink nipple into his mouth, toying with it with the tip of his tongue. His warm mouth was the first thing that made the girl stir, her head turning unconsciously toward him, letting out a sigh.

Lauren knew musical instruments- her long fingers and clever hands knew how to coax the melody from them. Thomas however, _knew_ women. He understood how to draw out a gasp or a moan, what made one girl shriek and another pass out with a soundless gasp. But he was still finding his way around his bride and quite interested in learning everything that would pull the music from her. So while the girl hovered, half-asleep, he toyed with each breast, keeping them trussed in her bra, stroking one finger over the wet lace lining of her undies. He ran his tongue up the silky skin of the inside of her arm and bit lightly on the throbbing cord in her neck. His cock grew uncomfortably hard at the symphony he was creating with Lauren, enjoying her soft moans and the louder, sharper gasps. It was when his mouth was placing a long, cat-like lick along her wet slit that he heard a little trill- a high-pitched sound like a bird's. Fascinated, he licked his wife's center again, dividing her lips and sliding the tip of his tongue between them. The musical hitch came again as her back arched, pushing her wet pussy against his mouth. When Thomas pursed his lips around her stiff clitoris and sucked, Lauren came awake with a scream. Her hands flew down to grab at her husband's hair, maybe to grip those almost-curls and yank him away, or... It was too late, she felt the orgasm barrel up her legs, making them shake and cycle through her pussy like a series of electrical shocks, the cycle beginning cruelly again when he slid one, then two fingers inside her, swirling, pumping up and down, scissoring- no movement long enough for her to concentrate and try to regain some semblance of control. After finding a couple of different spots inside her that made Lauren wail and try to slam her thighs together, her diabolical groom slid up her body, taking her hands from his hair and crossing them over her head, holding them with one hand while the other turned her face to kiss him. He grinned against her mouth when the girl tasted herself and stiffened. 

"Ah, ah!" he scolded gently, "You have been utterly delicious tonight. You must taste what I have been enjoying." Bending to kiss her again, Thomas ran his tongue over her full lips and slipped inside again, delicately tracing her teeth and then her tongue, before sucking it into his mouth. Purring against her ear, he enjoyed her corresponding shudder. "I've been making music with your lovely little body tonight. Would you like to hear it?"

Her eyes were wide, but not frightened, and the girl didn't even try to pull her hands from his grip. Lauren was utterly confounded, falling asleep in that miserably uncomfortable chair and suddenly waking up under her husband's long body. "I- what are- oh, GOD!" Lauren's voice swooped up a few registers when his white teeth landed in her neck, worrying the flesh like a lion, just barely not breaking the skin. One hand was plucking lightly from one nipple to the other while the other hand's fingers resumed their insidious play inside her. Staring back at Thomas's intent gaze, she tried to remember the words to make him stop- to tell him that is NOT what she wanted and certainly NOT from an asshole who shoved her up against a brick wall and scared the shit out of her because she said the "B" word. And then, she felt the broad head of her husband's cock circling her opening, sliding in teasingly enough to allow his puffy tip to pop in and out of the tight seal of her entrance. In her dazed brain, she could hear the percussive sounds of her gasping and moaning, every now and then the high-pitched keen when the horrible man's cock almost pushed inside her. And finally, the shameful melody of her inviting whines, escaping her clenched teeth when Thomas finally smoothly shoved himself up her passage, his corresponding growls rumbling in tandem with Lauren's moaning. 

Fortunately, Lauren's infernal spouse slowed halfway inside her, wrapping her legs around his waist and moving his hips sinuously, back and forth, playing with her without violently forcing his way inside. It was the taunting, slow play of his granite cock inside her that broke her determination to remain silent. "You are a horrible person," she noted in a small voice. Pausing long enough to raise up on his elbow to look at her, Thomas suddenly smiled. It was terrifying. It was arousing. It was murderously confident that she would not say 'no' to him, no matter what he chose to do to her.

"I am," he agreed, and bent to kiss her as his shaft made it's way up inside her again. When he finally felt some of the rigid tension leave the strong adductor muscles in her thighs, Thomas began sliding in and out faster, steadily pushing to the top of her and pausing for a moment, rotating his hips and gloating as bit about how very deep he could bury himself inside his wife.

Staring up at him, Lauren was struck with the beauty of this bizarre and terrifying man. Thomas's head was thrown back in bliss, eyes closed and thick lashes resting on his cheekbones. His mouth was slightly open and he was groaning helplessly as he circled inside her again. She was suddenly struck with an inexplicable pride that she could bring this seamless, urbane bastard to his metaphorical knees, moaning and growling like a big cat inside her, no longer in control of everything. She  _owned_  some part of him- and the girl was filled with a strange sense of power, tightening down on his shaft and enjoying the corresponding hiss- half pleasure, half discomfort as her wet walls halted his movement for a moment. Dropping his forehead to the collarbone he'd lavished so much time on earlier, Thomas managed to groan, "Lovely, I fear that if you do not release me from this utterly enticing grip, I will finish immediately and leave you unsatisfied. Let your Sir take care of you first."

'Sir?' Lauren thought, a little distracted, he'd said that the other night when she came. What did the title mean to him- oh, sweet Jesus that felt good! He'd arched his hips to push roughly against the silky front of her pussy, using the hairy base of his cock to tickle and irritate her clit, making it itchy somehow, needing something to feel less... or more something... that-

Suddenly his mouth was at her ear again and Thomas was hoarsely whispering the filthiest, most complimentary things. Dirty praises about her "sweet cunt," and "how wet and silky she was inside," and how he'd "twist her clit until his good girl came and he'd let her rest, and-"

And, Lauren did, gripping her thighs against his waist and crossing her ankles just over the swell of his perfect ass, feeling it clench and unclench under the press of her heels, and the feeling of it along with his nasty talk sent her skyrocketing. She was being so _loud_ , the girl thought vaguely as she wailed and gasped her aria, her little moans of pleasure as her relentless husband made her come once, then again. And as he surged and filled her with liquid heat, she shocked herself by coming again with him. She buried her face in his neck, confused and exhausted and deeply satisfied, and asleep before Thomas gently pulled his cock from her and enjoyed the slick rush of fluid seeping from her tender opening. Putting his head on his wife's abdomen, he ran his long fingers in the wet, sliding it along her swollen lips and pushing it back inside her. Something feral part of his brain made Thomas want to make sure Lauren took all of him. Every drop.

 

Waking that morning- quite a bit later that morning- Lauren opened her eyes to the sight of her husband's dark head resting comfortably between her quite unclothed breasts, his hips holding her legs open and one big, warm palm cupping her still slightly sore ass. And apparently her unconscious self was just as debauched, one hand on his head and the other on the smooth skin of his back. In fact, her sensitive fingertips were lightly stroking along the beautifully defined muscles there. The handsome bastard worked out, that was clear, she thought resentfully, wondering how he found the time in between raping and pillaging the business world and defiling his bride. Her wandering fingers suddenly crossed over a patch of rough, scarred tissue and Lauren raised her head from the pillow. Just above Thomas's kidneys and alarmingly close to his spine was a thick scar. It was wide, but clean- clearly a precision cut and not something as clumsy as a bullet wound. Her lips tightened, suddenly furious at whoever tried to mutilate her husband so, forgetting for the moment of the irony- if not hypocrisy of her indignation.

As if he'd felt her fingers wandering on uncomfortable territory, Thomas's cerulean eyes suddenly opened, making her jump. How did he _do_ that? She thought crossly, coming instantly awake, like a snake or something. He was so abruptly alert that it made her paranoid that he'd ever been asleep at all.

"Good morning, lovely."

Lauren groaned internally. That man and his voice. That beautiful, infernal voice.

He was watching her with some amusement, as Thomas gracefully twisted to his side and onto his elbow, looking down at her. "You came to bed quite late," he scolded smoothly, leaning in to breathe her warm skin. "We really must work on your bedtime, darling." He enjoyed watching his bride actually grind her teeth.

"I'm not a child, Thomas," Lauren managed a polite tone, "I get plenty of sleep."

"Hmmm..." he agreed, tracing his fingers along those lovely collarbones of hers again, ignoring how his bride stiffened. "But your responsibilities will start stacking up once the LSO season begins, along with your Corporation duties." Thomas stifled a grin as Lauren's mouth dropped open in horror.

"But- I- I mean, I thought I was already-"

Even her stutter was musical, he thought fondly, softened from a surprisingly powerful orgasm that morning and the pleasure of giving his sweet innocent several of her own. "You've been dressing up nicely and going to dinner," he corrected. "There is more, or course. Arabella will help you." He noted how Lauren went rigid again. 'Really,' he thought absently, 'I might need to work with her on her tells. My darling wife would be a terrible poker player.' Still, intrigued he leaned up over her, neatly caging the girl in between his arms and looking into her eyes. "What concerns you about Number One's wife, darling?" 'Ah,' he thought, watching her gaze dart away, 'there _is_ something...'

"Thomas, I need to get up," Lauren pleaded, "I need to go to... I need the bathroom, please."

He was quite certain she was avoiding his question, but it was hard to doubt a morning bladder, so he simply nodded and rolled over, allowing her freedom. He nearly chuckled as his sweet bride sat up, the white sheets sliding down to settle against her hips, just obscuring the line of her buttocks. She was looking for a robe or something to cover herself, and Thomas let her stew for a moment before calmly assuring her, "I shall close my eyes, lovely. You are free to scamper to the ensuite without scrutiny."

Lauren thought she heard him leave the bedroom, so she sighed with relief and opened the bathroom door to discover her horrible husband dressed for running and pulling out her workout gear from the dresser assigned to her. Stepping behind the door again, she looked at him pleadingly.

"There you are," he was apparently not in the mood to be merciful, because Pine stepped into her space, gently pushing her away from the door and under his scrutiny. "Beautiful." He drew out the word appreciatively, looking her body over as Lauren tried not to squirm. "Here," thrusting her spandex shorts at her, he smiled maliciously, "I thought you'd like to stretch your legs a bit and go running with me." He watched as her pink mouth opened helplessly, then his bride shut it with a snap.

"Fine..." Looking up at his cooling expression, she hastily added, "uh, Thomas."

 

Stepping out of the house, Lauren followed her new husband down the stairs, noting Chuck already parked discreetly at the curb and starting up the car to follow them. Thomas started them out in the opposite direction from her travels yesterday, but they looped around the little park and still ended up at the bakery Lauren had embraced.

"Nice to see you again!" yelped the cheerful young man at the counter, smiling at Lauren. His beaming expression wilted under Thomas's thoughtful stare. "Uh, hi, Mr. Pine. What can I get you?"

"My wife and I," Thomas inserted smoothly, enjoying the look of shock on the boy's face, "would like a Columbian dark with cream and a hot chai tea latte." He ignored Lauren staring up at him. Of course he would know what his new bride ordered for her caffeine fix. The same way he knew she'd been a virgin. That her pretty little friend from America wasn't speaking to her. That Lauren had made cautious friendship overtures to her new bodyguard, Straker. The same way he'd specifically selected the man because he knew Straker missed his own daughters. And that his volunteering to look after Lauren was somehow a kind of redemption for the man. Which meant he would give his life for Thomas's sweet new bride. Because Thomas Pine was not a man who let anything to chance.

Anything.

 

From the clever and beautiful Archy 3001

 

 

 


	9. Safe Words and Too Many Cocktails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren samples new cocktails. And new sex positions.

 

Thomas could see that it unnerved her.

That he knew she liked hot chai tea lattes. That she'd been here before. That he felt the need to brutally shut down any mild hopes the nice young man at the counter might have had towards his (once again, that infuriating designation as "his") might have had towards his Lauren. As they accepted their drinks, the light smell of her heated skin from running together made his nostrils flare appreciatively as they found a place to sit. Thomas watched his new wife curl inside herself.

  
"So..." she finally ventured. "Is there anyone in my life now that doesn't report back to you?"

  
Frowning just slightly behind his RayBans, Pine watched the drooping head of his bride, not looking at him as she examined her paper cup with an unnecessary degree of interest. "It's my job to keep you safe, darling." Thomas said calmly.

  
He was unprepared for the level of rage he encountered when Lauren's furious gaze met his. "Keep me safe?" she hissed, at least attempting to keep her anger at a manageable level. "Keep me _safe_ _?_ You stole my life, you-"

  
"Mr. Pine, what a pleasure!"

  
Lauren gritted her teeth and looked down at her chai.

  
"...congratulations, of course, on your happy news!" The supercilious creature still fawning over Thomas was beginning to strain the fine lines around his mouth, a "tell" that Lauren was coming to recognize as, "I'm going to be polite because we're in public but if you don't shut the fuck up I'll kill you." 

  
"Hello, I'm 'the wife,' I guess," Lauren chuckled humorlessly, "what's your name?" She pointedly extended her hand, hating the look of subtle amusement on her horrible husband's face.

  
"Oh!" The creature assaulting her husband stilled, perhaps in shock as she turned towards 'The Bride.' "Ah... Maryanne Harding, from the Berkshire Hardings? We're neighbors, you know- oh, you're new to the neighborhood, so of course-" The effusive creature's narrative died off as she examined Pine's mysterious and lovely new bride up close. Bloody _hell_ , the girl was beautiful, of course. And, a forced social smile was spreading across those pretty pink lips of hers. 

  
"It's a pleasure, Mrs, uh, Harding. I hope you'll forgive my cluelessness, I'm still learning about the neighborhood," Lauren lied with a warm smile and an equally ignorant understanding of who this woman was and if Mrs Harding even mattered. For instance, if her new husband didn't like this officious woman, _would_ he kill her? Like, if this person that Lauren did not know was annoying enough to murder, would Thomas just... make it happen? In the woman's expensive stainless steel kitchen? Driving home from the spa to find her brake lines cut a little too late? Lauren didn't know who her scary new spouse murdered, or why. And the enormity of this realization stopped the girl dead in her tracks, no matter how desperately she tried to pretend everything was "normal." 

Eyeing his wife's sudden pallor, Pine's brow creased and he smoothly cut off Maryanne Harding's (from the Berkshire Hardings) patter mid-sentence and rose, leaning over to take Lauren's arm and helping her to her feet. "Excuse us, Maryanne, we have an appointment."

Watching them walk rapidly in the direction of Thomas's house, the woman called after them hopefully, "We must have dinner soon!"

 

Slowing once they turned a corner, Thomas slid his arm around Lauren's waist, steadying her with a squeeze. "What has you so upset, darling? You looked like you might faint for a moment."

"I just..." she wasn't foolish enough to discuss something as incendiary as her spouse killing people out in the open, so Lauren shook her head and forced a smile. "Nothing important." Her fury from before was gone, and now full enormity of what she'd married into what truly sinking in. How did Arabella stand it? How was she still sane? "Can we run back, now?"

Eyeing her speculatively, Thomas finally gave a nod, taking off in a smooth run to match hers.

 

Back at the house, Tom casually began stripping off his sweaty clothes in front of her, just the way he had that first morning. It was when he smiled devilishly and purred, "Come share a shower, little girl," that Lauren made some garbled excuse and not-quite scampered from the room. She was in the huge kitchen, pressing a cool cloth against her face when he appeared behind her soundlessly, making the poor girl jump and almost shriek. 

"Why do you _do_ that?" Lauren gasped, dropping the wet washcloth and having to bend down to pick it up. She froze when her beautifully suited husband stepped right behind her, hands going to her hips to "support" her as the girl picked up the fabric. Lauren could feel his hardening cock press against her ass as she stood up, and mumbled, "I can pick up something off the floor without help, thank you." She tried to step away, but Thomas's big hands tightened against her waist as he pulled her against his chest.

"I want to know why you turned sheet-white when meeting the officious Maryanne Harding." His voice was colder. Crisp. There was none of the subtle humor or playfulness from the morning.

"How many people have you killed?"

The horrifying question burst out of Lauren's mouth before she could even think and she gasped in horror, slapping her hand against her mouth. Thomas abruptly yanked her around to meet his eyes, blazing and his mouth in a flat line.

"What are you talking about?" If she'd thought his tone was cold before, it was polar now, and terror rose up and nearly choked her. She was going to die. Her husband was going to kill her, right in his gourmet kitchen.

"I'm sorry!" Lauren gasped, "I don't- I don't know what made me ask that I'm sorry I don't want to know and I apologize for asking and-"

He gave her a quick, brisk shake that nearly separated her head from her body. "What does that have to do with this morning?"

Shrugging while she tried to force her trembling mouth to form words again, Pine's young wife finally forced out, "You sh-shot Frank and said you would kill me and I knew that women- Harding of the Berkshire Hardings-" here, Lauren gave a hysterical little giggle and mumbled, "I've never heard someone say something so stupid, outside of the movies."

Sighing impatiently, Thomas filled a glass with water and sat down on the same chair where he'd spanked her the other day. Lauren dug in her heels as he pulled her towards his lap. Not another spanking! She moaned internally and shook her head.

"This isn't punitive," Pine said impatiently, "come sit down before you faint or say anything else so deeply foolish."

That worked, pissing her off made Lauren's shaking disappear as her eyes narrowed, but she perched bitterly on his knee and took the glass of water.

"Drink it." The expression on his beautiful face told her Thomas was losing his granite hold on his self-control and she hastily did as he told her. "Now," his gaze was polar blue again and Lauren sat very still. "You have some idea of what you have married into. I corrected you rather harshly when you mentioned the Bratva out in public-something that will never happen again, will it darling?" Thomas paused and gazed at her coldly until his bride nodded in a jerking fashion, like a marionette. "Today you showed the wisdom and restraint of not saying anything until we returned home, which is very good."

Briefly, Lauren hated herself as she felt a sudden surge of warmth at his praise.

Thomas's hold around her waist loosened a bit and his thumb began stroking the strip of skin visible between her tank top and shorts. "I do not kill people for being annoying, or half the population of London would be dead by now." Her wide, horrified eyes told him that Lauren did not appreciate his little joke. "In fact, I very rarely take a life, or order someone else to do it. I would make every possible effort to avoid it." The slight hope she felt was abruptly crushed by his cool, indifferent tone. "It is messy. These events require a great deal of... cleaning up and backtracking."

Lauren simply stared at his beautiful, indifferent face. Her unspeakable husband avoided murder simply because it was inconvenient?

"It's too late to pretend that you've married a man who simply goes to the office every day and attends to stocks and bonds- though you would be surprised how much more of my time is taken by financial dealings than anything else. But you will never be involved in anything so... serious. There's secrets you're required to carry for the rest of your life-" Thomas watched as her huge purple eyes filled with tears, "-I am sorry. But your silence and your obedience keep you safe. Your father alive. And because you're a smart girl, your friends like Macie-" Horrified, Lauren tried to pull away from him again, but he tightened his grip until she was still. "-like Macie will never know a thing. There is a reason Corporation wives spend quite a bit of time together- because no one else can understand your position." Thomas watched her closely as his bride turned her face away from him. "You did the right thing by pushing Macie away," he added gently. 

She finally seemed to collect herself and looked back at him, studying the translucent blue of his eyes in the morning sun coming through the window, his dark hair and sharply defined cheekbones and jaw. How strong his hands were, holding her down. The feel of his muscled thighs under her own.

"You're a monster," Lauren said tonelessly, and simply stared at Thomas until his hands loosened and he let her rise from his lap.

 

She was alone in Thomas's beautiful house after he left for the Corporation's offices without speaking to her again. A look out the front window showed that Chuck was waiting patiently at the curb. Lauren was grateful that she had a rehearsal for the season debut in a couple of weeks and just needed to burn off a couple of hours before it was time to leave. She'd already practiced, worked out, cleaned the huge kitchen of her insignificant mess from lunch, and now... absently wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans (Thomas wasn't home and she'd damn well wear jeans if she wanted to- until, you know, he was home, and stuff...) Lauren was standing in front of his office door. Her new husband had given her a brisk (and short) tour of the home, calmly explaining that any room with a locked door was logically not meant to be entered by her. This included the room on the second floor that he referred to as his office, and the room next to their bedroom on the third. She'd been happy to see the beautifully remodeled home had a third-floor laundry room which meant she didn't have to enter the basement, which she found creepy. Along with walking her through the suspiciously elaborate security system which looked closer to something Buckingham Palace might require, Pine introduced her to the Panic Room- "Once the locks are set, darling they do not open for 12 hours"- the alarm button in each room that went directly to Corporation security, and incongruously, the lovely butler's pantry off the kitchen that was filled with endless amounts of sweets of every kind and a rather impressive wine selection.

"Damn him," Lauren had thought bitterly, "my two biggest weaknesses!"

But here she was, in front of The Room She Was Not To Enter, and of course dying to do so. What would he have? Knives and guns in the desk drawers? A wall full of spikes and swords? A live leopard, like the pets some of the Colombian drug lords thought made them look terrifying? Reaching out one hand, she tried the door handle. You never knew. Thomas might have forgotten to lock it. But the solid oak door didn't even more under her determined rattle, so Lauren sighed and got on her knees, laying her head down on the polished floor to look under the door. Other than the nicely polished legs of some chairs and an expansive desk, she could see nothing, so she crossly sat up, leaning against the door and drawing up her knees to rest her arms on them, thinking. Which was the sight Thomas viewed on his home security camera as he sat in a board meeting, looking at his iPad and keeping a smile from creeping across his face. 

He knew his Lauren would not be quelled for long. Settling back and listening to Number One drone, he thought back to the only other locked room in his house, next to their bedroom. Perhaps he would accidentally leave that door unlocked. He was looking forward to seeing her expression when she opened _that_ door.

 

Lauren was grateful when it came time to put her cello in its case and head out the door to rehearsal. Thomas had made it immediately clear that her new bodyguard would be driving her everywhere. "For your security, darling." When she'd glared at him, he'd chuckled infuriatingly as he stroked her cheek. "You're new to London, you wouldn't want to be lost or in an emergency without assistance, would you?"

"Translate that to- 'I intend to keep an eye on you every goddamned second of the day,' Lauren thought bitterly as she hauled her gigantic instrument out the front door and suddenly into the capable hands of Chuck.

"Let me get that for you, Miss Lauren," he assured blandly, easily swinging the heavy instrument in one hand as he opened the car door with the other.

Being back into the crowd of musicians laughing, chatting and catching up made Lauren feel- for the first time since that terrible night in Thomas's office- that her life was normal again. Laughing and nodding as she listened to one of the violinist's memories of his trip to Greece with his wife and children, she stiffened when she heard Macie's pretty laugh from across the room. When Lauren's friend turned to see her staring with a faint, hopeful smile, her own dropped and Macie turned away. Then reality came back like a slap in the face, and the new Mrs Pine numbly found her seat and began tuning her cello.

The misery of her dearest friend’s dismissal ate steadily away at Lauren during the rehearsal, forcing her to pay closer attention. In the past, she could always lose herself in the music, no matter what concerns or worries nagged at her in real life. But the cyclic feelings of loss, fear, fury and frustration grew until she was a veritable cyclone of emotion by the end of the rehearsal. So, when she checked her phone and there was a message from Number One’s wife informing her the Corporation men would be late in a meeting that night and would Lauren like to join her for a drink? Lauren was happy to type back, “Yes! When and where?”

“So…” Arabella waited until their obviously flirty waiter left their table before she leaned in, cradling her cocktail between her hands. “How are you? How is it going? Are you…” her shrewd brown eyes roved over Lauren’s face, “is everything, you know, all right between you two?”

Delaying as she took an appreciative sip of the cocktail Arabella ordered for her- a Sritangtini?- the girl tried to decide what to say. She’d paid the price for trusting people who were nice to her in the past, and she still didn’t know what Arabella’s motivations were.

Finally forcing a smile, Lauren looked up and shrugged. “Well. It’s all going well. I mean, all things considered it’s going well, and so…” she died off, having run out of anything she felt comfortable saying.

The older woman laughed, her head thrown back and looking very lovely, proven by the several admiring stares of the men around them. In fact, Lauren thought the selection of the Connaught Bar was a little surprising. It was beautiful, elegant, very “old-school” London, but they seemed to be the only women in a sea of expensively suited men relaxing after a long day of fucking each other over in the business world. Even Chuck had raised one discreet brow as he'd seated himself a couple of tables away, giving them their privacy.

"I know, dearie. It's difficult to say anything, especially in public." Arabella took another swig of her cocktail and raised a hand to their waiter for another.

"Oh, I don't-" Lauren tried to protest when his white-gloved hand placed another full glass next to her half-finished one.

"Live a little!" her friend gently urged her glass to her lips, "It is delicious, right? And you look like you could use some girl talk."

Idly twisting the glass in her fingers, Lauren chuckled humorlessly. "Thomas said-" she was looking at the glass and at not Arabella, not seeing the woman lean forward avidly. "He said that's why Corporation wives hang out together so much, because no one else can understand our position."

Shrugging, Arabella made a noise of agreement, finishing cocktail number two. "He is completely correct, your Thomas. I feel guilty being so happy that you married Number Two and that you're so sweet and fun to be with-" Like magic, another glass appeared before the woman and she took a long, somewhat inelegant gulp, Lauren joining her and finishing her first. 

This thing really was delicious, she thought, savoring the lemongrass and Kaffir lime juice.

“-but it’s such a relief to have someone to talk to.”

Lauren nodded a little vehemently. She was feeling more relaxed now, that tightness in her neck and chest from rehearsal not so noticable. “Exactly. Never knowing what i can say or what I can’t. I mean, even today with Thomas’s neighbor, I-” She took another swallow, “-I never know what he’s going to do. What he _could_ do. And that’s the scariest part.”

The waiter was back with a third drink for her and a fourth for Arabella. When he left, Arabella’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Has he hurt you, honey?”

“What?” Unaccountably, Lauren was insulted for Thomas. “Me? No!”

“Good, you didn’t fight him,” Arabella nodded knowingly, “I’m relieved. I was so worried he’d hurt you quite badly if you put up a fuss.”

Thinking of the spanking her new husband had given her in the kitchen a couple of days ago, Lauren squirmed uncomfortably. But she knew that wasn’t what Arabella meant, and the woman actually looked a little disappointed. "Why do you think Thomas likes to uh, hurt women?"

"Not just women," Number One's wife began to giggle, a little shrill and a titch sloppy. She was finishing her fourth drink and gestured at a man pushing an elegant little martini cart around the room. "Let's try something new."

"And maybe some food?" Lauren asked hopefully, she was starving, but she thought getting some food into this woman would be a good idea. The dark, mean-faced man sitting with Chuck was undoubtedly Arabella's minder and neither of them looked happy right now.

Following her nervous glance at their bodyguards, the older woman immediately pulled back. “Just some water please, and your small plates menu,” she ordered, and Lauren relaxed a little. Arabella was flushed, her platinum blonde hair just slightly out of it's elegant chignon and her tanned skin too ruddy. Stabilizing the blood alcohol level of her (maybe?) friend was a good idea. The one thing the girl was quite certain of was that the horrible Number One was not a man to displease. She could tell Arabella was desperate to let loose but this was _not_ the place. Lauren felt an odd sort of protectiveness for the woman, even knowing she probably couldn't trust her and that at more than 15 years older and over a decade in the Corporation, Arabella should definitely know better. Even so, she persisted. "Why do you think Thomas likes to hurt women?"

Arabella laughed incredulously, then stopped as she looked at Lauren's puzzled face. "You mean- he hasn't-" abandoning the small plates menu, she leaned forward again. "Thomas hasn't you know-" she drunkenly waved her hands around, "safe words and the titles and all that-"

"Lauren. Hello, darling. I see the two of you are having a little Hen's Night?"

Lauren's heart froze. Thomas was _right behind her,_ his hand on her chair and his body heat radiating through the thin cotton of her sundress. His voice was low and beautifully composed, the tender and slightly indulgent tone of a husband here to collect his wife after one too many cocktails with a friend. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, the girl croaked, "Yes? i mean, Arabella told me the board was meeting tonight, so we thought we'd-" Lauren looked at the other woman who suddenly looked terrified. Was this an unauthorized outing? Feeling the need to cover for Number One's wife, she forced a smile, "So we thought we'd have dinner and catch up while we waited for you all to... uh... finish?"

Looking up, she couldn't quite gauge his expression. Thomas had his urbane smile in place, but his grip on her shoulder was slightly too firm and he hovered over her, almost protectively. "Of course, darling. I'm glad the two of you kept busy while we finished up some boring details." He chuckled in a charming fashion, his eyes crinkling and white teeth flashing. The "Board meeting" was actually an execution list of underperforming employees, of which Frank Marsh was spared because of his new familial association with the Vice-President of Jaguar Holdings. The other three men would not be so fortunate.

His Lauren's eyes were wide and anxious, but her smile was sweet and her voice calm as she stood, putting her napkin on the table and leaning over to shakily air-kiss Arabella's cheek. "Thanks again for the night out, it was so nice to chat."

"You, too!" her friend shrilled, smiling widely as her bodyguard stepped up behind her.

 

Being escorted out of the bar, Lauren resentfully eyed Chuck's placid expression. He obviously had called Thomas, reporting on her like a adult calling out an underage party-goer. She was too upset to notice the eyes of most of the men in the bar watching her leave, though the suited arm of her husband possessively sliding around her waist was quite clear.

"Goodnight, Straker."

Lauren could feel the dull rumble of Thomas's deep voice along her spine as Chuck politely bid them both goodnight, then sheared off as she was helped into her husband's Jaguar. Her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress when he suddenly leaned over her, then relaxed as Pine simply clicked her seat belt. His low chuckle as he withdrew from her side of the car and shut the door made her hiss like a cat. They drove in silence for a while, until he suddenly commented, "Next time, I expect you to contact me first if you intend to deviate from your schedule."

It was such an odd way to put it that Lauren turned to stare at his cold, beautiful profile, more confused than afraid. "My... what, my schedule? I went to practice and then Arabella texted me and told me you were all in a late meeting and that we should meet for drinks? I thought you knew?" She didn't want to say that she assumed he'd approved the outing because that really did sound completely pathetic. Though, she did, indeed, assume that.

He looked at her briefly as he shifted gears. "No. I was not aware of the change in plans until Straker contacted me."

It took Lauren a moment to realize he meant her new bodyguard, because he was already cemented as "Chuck" in her mind. "Okay..." she said cautiously, "I guess I thought... you'd just said today that Corporation wives stuck together because..." They were pulling into the driveway of their townhouse and the garage door closing behind them when Thomas took her chin firmly between his long fingers.

"No, darling. I was unaware. And I do. Not. Wish. To be unaware of your whereabouts. Ever again." Thomas could see by the sudden terror in his Lauren's eyes that his tone was fiercer than he'd planned. Drawing in a calming breath, he forced himself to relax. "I know Arabella texted you, it's not your fault. But you must check with me first. She may be a Corporation wife, but that doesn't mean I trust her. Nor should you."

Puzzling over his warning, Lauren absently allowed Thomas to help her out of the car and through the door to their kitchen. 

"You haven't eaten, have you?" She looked up, startled to see he'd spoken again, opening the huge stainless steel refrigerator.

"Um... no. We were just about to order when you showed up," Lauren admitted, watching her new husband pull out a series of items; eggs, bacon, cheese and mushrooms. 

Thomas slipped out of his jacket, laying it over a chair and rolling up his sleeves. Despite herself, she shivered, watching his long, capable fingers fold up the fine cotton of his shirt. Pine's forearms were broad and strongly muscled, and unbidden the vision of how easily he'd manhandled her in bed that early morning made Lauren shiver. She scowled to see a slight smile cross his lips, but her infuriating new spouse said nothing. He asked her a few calming questions about how the rehearsal went, what she did that day, as he cooked a beautiful-looking omelette, slicing some fresh fruit and putting in some toast to brown. 

Setting the kitchen table as he finished, Lauren was struck with a moment of deja vu. Looking up to catch her glistening eyes, Thomas asked, "What are you thinking?"

Shaking her head and smiling with somewhat forced cheer, Lauren took the plate he offered her. "Oh, it's just... my mom used to make this for me sometimes, 'breakfast for dinner,' she'd say..." To her gratitude, he simply smiled and pulled out her chair. She wouldn't cry about her mom in front of him. Not _him_.

"Ironic," Thomas mused, seating himself and offering her the fruit plate. "My mother did the same."

Lauren's fork froze over the omelette. Her mysterious spouse was offering _information?_ Freely? Unfortunately, even though she kept silent, he didn't offer anything else and the conversation went back to safer, duller things. When they were nearly finished, he leaned back and eyed her speculatively. "You looked uncomfortable when I showed up," he finally said, "and Arabella looked a bit worse for wear."

Shrugging awkwardly, she tried to brush it off. "I think she just wanted to let her hair down, have a little fun. That's all."

Thomas was watching her, and that beautiful blue gaze of his was piercing. "You seemed... uncomfortable with some of the things Arabella had said to you, when we spoke yesterday. What in particular, darling?"

She felt like a butterfly pinned to one of those long display boards in the Natural History Museum in London. Lauren had toured through the museum on a school trip in high school, her first trip to Europe. Rubbing her hand over a suddenly aching forehead, she tried to decide what to say. Finally exhausted, she blurted, "Arabella keeps asking me if you've hurt me yet." She looked up to see the same look of surprise and disgust he'd worn when she'd timidly offered herself, sobbing, on their wedding night. Plowing on uncomfortably, she persisted, "When she was uh, when she was helping me get ready before the wedding ceremony she told me to..." the unreality of the conversation caught up with her. There was nothing in her life thus far that prepared her for such a bizarre conversation such as this, and with a man such as this. 

"Yes?" Thomas's voice was cold, but controlled. "She told you what, darling?"

"She told me that if I resisted you, you would- uh, you would like to- to hurt me, so she said to not say 'no' and just... let you." Lauren couldn't even look up from her plate. She could feel the chill of his rage and just gripped her napkin in her lap, wishing she'd never opened her mouth.

"Lauren." His resonant, deep voice was suddenly calm, almost caressing. "Look at me, lovely."

Swallowing against the whimper that wanted to escape from her throat, she looked up at her confusing, beautiful, terrifying husband. His eyes seemed to soften when he watched her bite into her lower lip.

"Baby," he said gently, "have I ever forced you into bed?" Her blonde head dropped, but she shook it back and forth.

"No."

"Have I ever hurt you in bed?"

"No." Lauren's head was still bowed, so she only heard Thomas's sigh as he pushed away his plate and hers, rising and walking around to her side of the table.

"Look at me." Unwillingly, her eyes rose to see him bending over her, helping her rise to her feet and then briskly hoisting her onto the long farm table. "Lauren. Darling. Look at me."

They were nearly eye to eye now, thanks to the extra height of the antique oak table and Lauren forced herself to meet Pine's gaze. "Arabella was trying to scare you. I don't know why..." his brow briefly creased, then Thomas smiled at her, a warm, reassuring smile that almost made her relax until she remembered who she was dealing with. "This explains so much about our wedding night..." he chuckled ruefully. "I am sorry she frightened you, darling."

Lauren was startled to hear that he almost did sound regretful. "So, um, what was that stuff, I mean, what did she mean about safe words and titles and-" she died off again as she watched a flash of fury go through his polar gaze.

Breathing in, Thomas seemed to calm himself and when he looked at her again, his eyes were the warm color of the Caribbean. "My darling, part of what Arabella said was true-" his jaw tensed for a moment, "-but it was my right to discuss it with you." His fingers were sliding over the smooth skin of her thighs, bared from her new position on the table, the rasp of his calloused hands feeling oddly soothing. "I do enjoy dominating you in bed. I do enjoy being your Sir."

Brow creased, Lauren remember him referring to himself as "Sir" as she was shaking from an orgasm, more than once. "What does that mean?"

Briefly, Thomas looked incredulous before he recalled who he was speaking to. His new wife's guileless eyes watched him apprehensively. "Do you know what a dominant-submissive relationship is?"

Entertainingly, her expression twisted into one of disgust. "Like those shitty 'Shades of Grey' books? God! Ugh!"

Thomas laughed uproariously before he stopped himself. "Not quite, lovely. Tell me, why did those disgust you?"

Lauren leaned back and stared at him judgmentally, "Seriously? They were shit! I tried to read the first one and had to give it up- god, her pitiful characters and that insipid dialogue?" She shuddered, suddenly making him adore her even more. "Ugh! No one talks like that- I mean, I may have been-" He watched with amusement as his bride shut her mouth abruptly. ('I might have been a virgin,' was what she'd been about to say, and his barely concealed smirk told her he knew it.) "Anyway. They sucked. I may not be an expert in Dom/sub relationships, but I can't picture anyone talking like that with a straight face-"

She was cut off abruptly as Thomas suddenly kissed her greedily, all tongue and teeth until the girl was gasping and flat on her back. "My clever girl," Pine crooned approvingly, "such a good girl." He watched as she shivered involuntarily. "You are, of course, correct. It was utter shite." Kissing her again with a certain arousing degree of savagery, he smiled against her mouth as Lauren went limp. "But in a true relationship between a Sir and his beautiful girl..." his hands were moving again, spreading her thighs as he slipped between them and stroking up her neck, down her arms and suddenly unbuttoning the front of her sundress. "In a true relationship, it is the submissive, darling, who has the control. Just as I gave you the first time we were together." His hands were tickling lightly around the cups of her bra until it somehow disappeared and then circled her nipples, his eyes suddenly dark and intent as he watched her reaction. "It is a Sir's responsibility to take care of his beautiful." Here, his lips pressed against one stiff nipple, and then the other. "Perfect." Kiss and a flick of his tongue, enjoying watching her startled gasp and how his wife's back arched. "Darling."

Lauren's eyes were closed, but she could feel his mouth against her breast, the feel of the words his lips were shaping against the painfully sensitive nerves in her nipples. "So, you are a Dom and you want me to-" To her consternation, Thomas pulled his warm mouth away from her breasts as she whined involuntarily.

"I will never force you to do anything, lovely," he was leaning over her, hands stroking along her thighs and pushing her skirt higher, carefully not looking at her bare breasts, pink nipples gleaming wet from his mouth. "But, yes. I intend to be your Sir. To care for you and pamper you. I will give you all sorts of delicious new experiences if you will trust me to guide you." To Lauren's embarrassed relief, he bent his dark head to kiss along her neck and back to her breasts again. 

Without even thinking about what she was doing, her hands came up to cradle his head as Thomas toyed with her breasts again, running his tongue over her skin and his sharp teeth making her yelp. "Do you want to, you know, hurt me? Like she said?" Her voice came out smaller than she preferred, and Lauren's eyes were pleading with him to... what?

With an effort, he pulled back, stroking her skin as he smiled at her. "Not in the way she means, little one. Do you remember me sliding my cock up you the first time? Rubbing against the top of you?" Thomas patiently pulled her hands away from her beet-red face. "It's like that, baby. It can hurt, just as much as it feels good. I will never give too much of one without the other, and you will come like the good girl you are. Every time."

He could already feel the strong muscles in her thighs loosen, the tight abdominals relax against his roaming hands. Lauren wasn't trying to pull away, she seemed more... transfixed by his words. Gritting his teeth against the need to rip off her panties and shove himself inside her, Thomas forced himself to calm down. "Would you like your Sir to take care of you? You needn't decide anything tonight, darling. Just... let me make you feel good. Can you do that?"

Could she? Lauren watched the shades of blue sweep through his gaze. Her mysterious husband was far too good at schooling his expressions, she had no way of truly knowing how he felt. But his eyes... furiously cold, sometimes warm and almost caring, and now an alluring calm that made her want to bathe in him, in his vision of what they could be. 

"Just..." she stopped and licked her suddenly dry lips, "just for tonight? Nothing written in stone?"

His rough hand ran down her cheek, making her close her eyes. "Nothing that you don't want."

Lauren sat up, holding onto his shirt with sweaty hands and took a deep breath. "Okay."

She was surprised by the sudden ferocity of his kiss, but then Thomas pulled back. "If you want me to stop, you will say 'red.' If you would prefer I slow down, you will say 'yellow.' Like stop lights. Do you understand?"

That's what Arabella meant about 'safe words,' Lauren realized. She may have been a virgin, but that didn't make her clueless. "Okay," she managed, trying to nod decisively.

Thomas stepped back. "Unbutton my shirt."

Tongue slightly between her teeth, Lauren did as he told her. 

"Good girl, now take it off." Her hands smoothed away the fine cotton and pulled his shirt away from his broad shoulders. He was beautiful in the light from the kitchen's warm glow, and she sighed a little in appreciation. "Touch me."

No hesitation, her fingers slid over his biceps, his sculpted pectorals and abdominal muscle firm, but without the overly sculpted look from endless, self-indulgent hours in the weight room.

"Now, I'm going to touch you, little girl." Lauren's eyes closed and she shivered a little as he pulled her to her feet, letting her unbuttoned dress slide down her body along with her bra, leaving her in a pair of white undies. Plain cotton ones, not the fancy bits the Corporation Wives had given her. "So sweet..." he approved, kneeling to run his mouth along them, puffing warm breaths of air and finally making her shriek in surprise his his lips and teeth fastened over the fabric shielding her hard clitoris. It felt like nothing was there to stop him and Lauren was shocked and embarrassed to realize how close she was to coming. "Hold on to the table, baby..." she yelped again as Thomas slung a leg over each shoulder and attacked her pussy, throwing her off balance and forced to grasp wildly at the wood surface to steady herself as he yanked her panties aside and ran his tongue along her and then pointed it, jabbing it into her opening. She felt the vibration of his chuckles against her center as her husband soothed, "that's all right, lovely girl. I'm going to make you come now. Go ahead as soon as you're ready, but-" here, his hands tightened down on the soft skin of her thighs and Lauren froze. "I want to hear every single sound, baby. Every whimper. Every moan. Can you do that for your Sir?" His mouth was attacking her again by then and all she could do was nod helplessly as she squeezed her thighs against his head, gasping at the feeling of his lips, tongue and teeth all moving against, inside and around her. And when two thick fingers slid up and inside her, Lauren let out a very unladylike yelp.

"OH! Oh, my GOD that feels-" her flailing hands were seized and held over her head as her beautiful and frightening husband rose and loomed over her.

He looked her over, mouth still wet from her pussy. "I'm going to make you scream, little girl," he promised in a husky tone. Before her dazed senses could register the unzipping of his trousers and the smooth rasp of the fine wool down his thick thighs, Thomas had shoved his entire cock up inside her, making Lauren's entire body stiffen like she'd grabbed a live wire and she shrieked in surprise and pleasure and relief as she came screaming, just as he’d ordered. And again, hearing Thomas groan as he braced his feet to push up into her harder against the convulsing walls of her channel, enjoying her body's slick efforts to push him out and clutch his cock at the same time. His arms slipped under her knees and pulled her wider, making Lauren grasp vaguely for the edges of the table, looking up at his eyes, narrowed and vaguely feral, a hard set to his jaw. She was reminded of their dance together when his hips slipped into a sinuous rhythm, sliding and slipping his cock in and out of her as his thumb moved from her leg to her clit, drumming it lightly as he began pushing into her harder. "I do believe," he said, just a bit breathlessly, "that you have one more orgasm inside this tight little cunt for your Sir, don't you?"

"I..." she was still staring at him, watching the cords in his neck tighten as he seemed to fight against his own finish. After his thumb pressed down and began moving in a more determined, circular pattern Lauren grabbed at his arms. 

Thomas bent lower, purring as he smiled devilishly against her mouth. "One. More."

"Yes Sir!" his wife gasped as she mindlessly obeyed him and came, clamping down so hard that his head fell backward, then dropped to her chest. Lauren's hands looped around his shoulders as Thomas buried his face between her breasts, growling harshly as he shoved once, then again, and one more time until she felt the heat of him finish through her, warming her lower half as she shook against all her nerve endings below her waist firing off, all at once.

"Such a good girl," Thomas praised hoarsely against the soft skin of her chest. "Such a very, good girl. Your Sir is so pleased."

 

 

Diana Molloy's lovely "Cock of Arms"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Sritangtini is a lovely, tangy spring cocktail that I had at a recent trip to our local hipster bar. It is sweet and tangy and surprisingly strong. As our lovely Lauren discovered.
> 
> 1.5 oz Citron Vodka  
> .5 oz Cointreau  
> 2 oz Thai herb juice*  
> .5 oz Lime juice  
> .5 oz Simple syrup
> 
> *Thai Herb Juice:  
> 2 pcs Ginger  
> 2 pcs Gallingale  
> 2 pcs Lemongrass  
> 5 pcs Kaffir lime leaf
> 
> Moisten the rim of the martini glass with chili oil, the dip in salt and chili powder. Put Citron vodka, Cointreau, herb juice, lime juice, and simple syrup in a shaker. Add ice and shake well. Pour into martini glass. Garnish with lemongrass stick, kaffir lime leaf, and lemon slice.


	10. Until I Take It Off You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren finds it increasingly difficult to say "no" to Thomas, even if she knows she should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely Dom/sub Ninja Princess Miss Tardis for giving me some new ideas and inspiration. I adore you in every possible way.

Diana Molloy's lovely "Cock of Arms"

 

 

Had Lauren been given a moment to consider what she might think a Dom/sub sexual encounter might include, it wasn't being held immobile in Thomas's huge walk-in shower as he easily kept her legs open, resting his chin on her shoulder and enjoying the sight of the showerhead spurting water in a staccato rhythm against her bare and defenseless clitoris. He’d lifted her up by her thighs, resting her back against his broad chest and then spreading her legs wide. Naturally, Lauren immediately attempted to close them, embarrassed, but Thomas refused to budge, having angled one of the showerheads just so. She’d not noticed at the time until her diabolical spouse turned the water on.

"T- Thomas?" she gasped, hand flying back to slide through his hair, "This is really inten- AH! -Intense and I'm- AH! GOD!" She could feel his chest shake with laughter as she writhed in his grip, trying to close her legs against the implacable spray of the water against really, what was a decisively overworked portion of her body. After the wild episode on the table, Thomas had stayed inside Lauren as he carried her up the stairs to their bedroom, the curl and stretch of her walls around him hardening his cock again. He'd made her sit upright, chests pressed together so he could feel the arch of her back, hear her moan as he easily bounced her up and down on his shaft. But back to the present... this was round three- did it count as three if Thomas just used his fingers and the shower head?- and Lauren was fairly certain she'd be walking with a limp in the morning.

His dark head bent closer, enjoying Lauren's pretty face, made lovely and carnal from her orgasm, mouth wet and open, lashes fluttering as she fought to hold on to her sanity.

"So beautiful..." Thomas mused, "so beautiful for your Sir." He could tell by the desperate movements of her once-strong legs, muscles now slack and shaking, that his lovely new wife was quite finished. His darker, more greedy side wanted to push her lithe body harder, force her to come again and again until she couldn't remember how to beg him to stop. 'She's new to this,' he reluctantly reminded himself. Groaning internally, Thomas gently rinsed her slickened thighs and pussy and closed her legs, shifting Lauren to carry her bridal style out into the bedroom and wrapping her in a big terrycloth robe.

Gingerly shifting her hips and trying to find a more comfortable position for her sore and throbbing center, Lauren sleepily opened her eyes as she felt her head lifted and put on her mysterious and scary husband’s long thigh. He was holding a brush- one of those fancy silver ones, broad with a raised “P” on the back.

“That’s a pretty brush,” the girl mumbled, feeling slow and clumsy as she tried to make her lips move properly.

"It's quite useful," Thomas said oddly, a hint of mirth in his voice. Lauren's brows drew together in confusion, but it seemed like too much effort to appear puzzled and she made a vague affirmative-sounding noise. "I'm going to brush your hair, little girl. Just relax. You've been so very good for your Sir."

"Sirrrr...?" Lauren groaned in frustration. Why couldn't she form a coherent sentence?

Running the bristles gently through her blonde curls, Thomas grinned, just a bit. "You're frustrated because you're sleepy and confused, aren't you? Having trouble trying to talk?" Her head nodded and she hummed in agreement. Running the brush through the next section of hair, he soothed, "You're in subspace, baby. When you've had a particularly... intense evening, your body produces endorphins and enkephalins, which can make you feel a bit like you're having an out of body experience."

He waited, continuing to use the elegant silver brush on her hair until Lauren stirred enough to mumble, "Oh. Okay."

Thomas knew she was too intelligent to not want to know more about what he'd done to her, but his bride was exhausted and she needed rest. Another dark smile crossed his lips. She was going to have trouble getting out of bed in the morning. "It's time to sleep, lovely," he soothed, brushing his mouth on her forehead. "Be a good girl and close your eyes. I have you safe." Lauren was out like a light, most likely before he even finished the sentence, but the Corporation's terrifying Number Two carried on brushing her hair, looking forward to the time he'd be using the other side on her shapely little ass.

 

Thomas was in fact, shaving in the gleaming master bath when he heard the pathetic whimper the following morning. Grinning, he ambled out into the bedroom, wiping the shaving cream off his face as he surveyed the limp form of his bride attempting to get out of bed. She was making a sort of pitiful paddling motion with her hands, much like baby turtles trying to get into the surf before the seagulls caught them. When her resentful gaze met his, Pine schooled his features into something resembling concern. 

"Ah, good morning darling. I suspected you might be a bit uncomfortable today." He leaned over her, clad only in a white towel wrapped around his waist and a slightly lecherous smile.

Pushing a handful of hair out of her eyes, Lauren tried to control her embarrassment and fury over having given in so easily to this terrible man. Clearing her throat, she finally managed, "Yes... this should be uh... challenging. Uh. Walking. Today." Looking up, she could see nothing but care and concern on Thomas's beautiful face, which instantly put her on guard.

"Shall I help you move past this discomfort, lovely?" Pine chuckled at the look of suspicion on Lauren's face. She knew him so well, already. "Since you won't be running this morning-" pausing as the girl made a choked sound as she tried to sit up, he stroked her cheek tenderly. "I can assist you in not thinking about your sore, tender kitty-" Lauren gave a high-pitched noise when his broad palm cupped her center, and he continued on as if he hadn't heard her, "-I think you'll be quite surprised to see how quickly you can forget."

If Lauren had had more than 3 hours of sleep, or her drunken hormone hangover wasn't confusing her, she might have caught on to Thomas's wording and scooted away. But as it was, his warm hand actually felt rather nice on her desperately sore pussy and his sweet tone of concern was lulling her into a false sense of security. He could see it- see the moment her resistance and suspicious waned- and Number Two almost felt a pang of guilt about manipulating his sweet, just-broken virginal bride. 

Almost.

"First..." 

Lauren gave another high-pitched yelp when his hand cupping her center was suddenly smoothing a cream over her still-swollen lips. The lotion was cool and vaguely comforting as she felt the worst of the soreness and over-sensitivity fade away. Her face flamed as Thomas pulled fresh undies up her legs.

"Better?" Thomas leaned closer to her red face, eyes determined to stare at her lap until his hand moved to her chin to force his bride to look at him. "Better?" he repeated firmly.

"Yes, thank you," Lauren's gaze tried to flutter away like an anxious butterfly but he shook her chin lightly. 

Bending in to kiss her lips, he smiled, just on this side of smug. "Very good. Now, for the second part... Why don't you tidy up in the bathroom and then come back out to me?" Thomas phrased it in the form of a question, but the girl had no such illusions, nodding and getting up slowly. Refusing to look back at him, Lauren hobbled her way into the pristine master bath and sat down on the toilet with a sigh of relief. Last night had been much, much harder on the lower half of her body than even losing her virginity to her... that... to Thomas on what she still mentally referred to as the "No Diggety" night in honor of the song that apparently made every one of her morals go flying out the window of his Jaguar. Staring blankly at the greenery outside the paned windows, she edged around their discussion the night before. 

Dom/sub. Huh.

Lauren had never heard it put like that, but she was assuming it was part of the wider BDSM world, but what part, she was uncertain. Thomas had waited for her agreement before doing anything with her sexually, which was deeply reassuring, even though the man HAD forced to her marry him. Flushing the toilet and washing her hands, the girl looked at her flushed cheeks, hair flying everywhere. Thomas Pine, the Terrible Number Two of Jaguar Holdings radiated danger, even before she knew what he was. So it shouldn't surprise her that the man was into exotic sex. Her hands slowed under the water, soap forgotten in her hand. If she didn't agree to be a sub, would he go somewhere else for it? Wouldn’t that actually be a good thing? Lauren's eyes widened as she felt a sudden flush of fury sweep under her skin like a brush fire. 'Hell, _no!'_ she snarled internally, 'He's _my_ husband and-' Suddenly sitting down on the window seat, she stared out into the elegant little backyard garden. What did that even mean? Did fidelity have any part of a hellish union like this? A marriage she was dragged into under pain of death to a- what did they call these people nowadays? Was Thomas a mobster or was that just a New York thing? Kingpin? No, too old-school. Shadowy organized crime lord? Burying her face in her still-wet hands, Lauren was torn between laughing and crying. Here she was, hiding in her husband's luxurious master bath and trying to figure out what kind of criminal she was married to?

A knock on the door made Lauren shoot upright. "Darling? I'm waiting for you." The composed tone of her scary-ass husband was still meant to convey she'd been hiding quite long enough. With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair and then opened the door. Satan was standing there, in the form of the handsome Thomas Pine, well-groomed and already dressed in another expensive suit. He looked her up and down with a sardonic smile. "Much better." Taking her hand, he led her over to their huge walk-in closet slash dressing room. When she'd first seen it, Lauren had squee'ed internally. A dressing room! And all those cool dressers and storage bits and elaborate closet space! And, a huge, well-lit mirror in front of a table for her jewelry, makeup and such. There was pitifully little there, she didn't wear much makeup and her only jewelry aside from her wedding rings were the few, treasured pieces passed down from her mother that she'd managed to hide from Frank.

"Stand right here," then Thomas's hands were pulling her robe from her and then her bra, which made his shy bride's hands fly to cover her bare chest. "Ah, ah, ah." he chided, "You cannot hide your lovely body from me." He pushed his chest against her back, feeling the warm of her bare skin seep through his dress shirt. "And why would you?" he murmured into her ear, enjoying Lauren's corresponding shiver. Pulling her hands away, he spoke lower, a darkly persuasive tone that she could _feel_ as well as hear. "Why would you want to hide these beautiful breasts? Hmm?" Holding her wrists together with one hand he stroked the other over her pink nipples, enjoying watching them stiffen. "Gorgeous, darling. A perfect size for holding... and squeezing..." he did both, hearing the little moan escape between her clenched teeth. "Firm enough not to need a bra, and these delightfully sensitive nipples, such a pretty color." Her diabolical spouse blew a warm breath on the aforementioned item and watched her shiver. Pulling back with a sigh, he smothered a grin as her eyes opened, looking mildly indignant that his attentions had ceased. "I have something for you."

Lauren's head was swimming a little between her dark husband toying with her breasts and the potent alchemy of his voice, but she managed, "Oh?" Looking down as he pulled something from a drawer, her brows rose. Thomas was holding a rather beautiful corset. The first one she'd ever worn was under her wedding dress, but she had really liked the sculpted waist it gave her. She had one of a swimmer's build than curves, and it made her feel rather luscious during the final fitting.

Before she remembered why she was wearing it.

"Now, darling. Raise your arms." Thomas was behind her again, close enough to feel his breath on her bare shoulder as he held the garment in front of her, shielding her breasts. Simply because it was covering that part of her from his amused gaze was reason enough to obey him, so she did. "I remembered how beautiful you looked in your corset under that lovely wedding dress," he began conversationally, settling the corset straight and taking the strings in his hands.

Lauren smiled with a little chuckle. "That's just what I was thinking of."

"Oh?" His beautiful cerulean gaze met hers in the mirror.

"Mmm hmm," she nodded, "it was the first one I've ever worn, and- OH!" Thomas had taken the moment to yank the laces at her waist quite tightly. She could feel his practiced fingers rapidly tightening the laces downward towards her hips, the compression getting more aggressive as he went.

"Did you enjoy how lovely you looked in that white lace corset? Your tiny waist?" His gaze was on her back, but she could see a bit of a smile hovering around his mobile lips.

Lauren's hands were holding the top part of the corset to her breasts. It was a lovely pale green, satin, no itchy lace and wonderfully sleek. The cups were ruffled silk and felt wonderful on her skin. "Yes?"

His eyes met hers again in the mirror as he gave another brisk tug, this time moving from the center upwards. "You don't sound certain, little girl."

She flushed, edging from one foot to the other. "How um- how do you know how to lace a corset, anyway? I doubt they had a course in this at Cambridge." He burst out in laughter, those long fingers still moving the laces expertly up her spine. 

"Have you been researching me, darling?"

Lauren shrugged one shoulder. "It's on the Corporation website. I looked you up before you called me in that day to..." Remembering suddenly that the whole meeting was a miserable sham, her voice died off.

Thomas tugged silently for a moment, harshly enough for Lauren's hands to fly from her front to handing on to the table for support. She could feel her ribs folding in a bit, like the foldable legs on a card table but he was working so quickly she hadn't had a chance to notice.

"I learned the art of lacing a lady's corset," he murmured, "in New Orleans. In a boutique devoted to the means of shaping the female form. Corsets and waist-trainers, heels and hosiery..." she wheezed as he yanked the laces through the eyes just behind her breasts, and when Lauren could draw a breath, she could see her modest bosom heave in a somewhat buxom fashion, all flushed and pretty and swelling alluringly over the ruffled silk of the corset's cups. "It's quite precise, you see," her strange spouse continued, "one begins at the middle- because shaping the hips is quite different than the curve of the waist, or how the ribs sweep up to the breasts..." He finished the lacing, tying off the cords with one last, deliberate jerk that pulled Lauren's grip loose from the table, making her fall back against him again. "Beautiful," he growled, his resonant voice deepening, thickening as his hands followed the curve of her corseted waist, up her torso and stroking over the silk hiding her peaking nipples from him. Very gently, Thomas reached in to adjust her breasts to their best position, swelling alluringly over the confines of steel boning and satin. His hand went to her chin again. "Look at yourself. How beautiful, how arousingly perfect you are." One hand slid down her back and Lauren shivered. "Your posture is magnificent, proud and straight..." he made a pleased noise and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. 

Trying to draw in a deep breath, Lauren spoiled the moment by wheezing. "It's a little..." she gave a hiccup of air, "this is really tight. Can we-"

"No." Thomas refused, still placing kisses on her skin. "You'll get used to it, I assure you. The beauty is worth the discomfort. And the self-discipline will help you."

"For what?" Lauren asked, "How will it help me?" Her dark husband was looking at her reflection in the mirror, a slow visual pass over every curve, every line of her body. Then he looked into her eyes and smiled. Not reassuringly. It was a terrible smile full of all kinds of murky, troubling promises.

"You'll see."

A sudden burst of courage made her spine stiffen. "You said it was my choice," Lauren managed, "you said I had the power to say yes or no."

Thomas was distracted by the swell of her breasts again, calloused fingers stroking over the skin. "It is your choice," he agreed finally, and then his eyes met hers again and the girl's knees nearly buckled. They were on fire- blazing with his need to fuck her, control her, own her. "And you will agree."

 

A few moments later, he brought out a silky dress for her- a simple wrap style that he solicitously helped Lauren step into and then slowly, deliberately drew the zipper up her spine, his long fingers straightening the fabric around her waist, smoothing it over her hips. Finally stepping back from her his heated gaze went over her, then Thomas nodded his head. "Lovely. Why don't you finish up and meet me downstairs. You'll be coming with me today." He watched her eyes widen with alarm, and chuckled lightly. "Only a business lunch, darling. The wives are joining us for some photographs for the LSO charity. He watched Lauren's face fall. "Surely," he purred, "you're still grateful for your scholarship? You want to help other deserving students?"

Lauren rubbed her forehead, "Of course I do. It's just... it's different now."

"Now that you're the wife of a monster?" Pine didn't look angry, but his voice was frigid. Smiling humorlessly, he checked his watch. "You have thirty minutes to get ready."

Trying to get another breath and failing against the corset's iron grip, his bride managed to call, "Wait!" As he turned toward her again, Lauren nearly lost her nerve. "How long do I have to wear this?"

Stepping back, he brushed his lips over hers. "Until I take it off you."

 

Archy's delightful "Cock of Arms"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, true story: I foolishly attempted to start a little corset business- which after spending too much money- made itself clear as a failure. So we took all the corsets and lacy bits to Burning Man last year and spent a wonderful afternoon lacing the ladies (and a couple of gents) into them so they could go off and look magnificent that night. Nothing is sold at Burning Man, you offer gifts from the heart. My husband actually had learned to lace me into a corset from a lovely French gentleman in a New Orleans boutique, so everyone was half in love with my dear spouse by the end of the festival.


	11. Everything But Her Freedom, Of Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren finds that saying "yes" to her terrifying new husband is never as simple as it might seem. There's always a price to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am struggling through the ending to "You Belong To Me, Now," and it's kind of fucking with my head. I have... visions... for "Sing Banshee" and "Reluctant Bride," so please be patient with me! Although constructive criticism is always appreciated. I'm learning from the best here on AO3....

(Archy's delightful "Cock of Arms")

 

 

She had to admit, Lauren thought grimly, the fiend she'd been forced to marry was quite accurate in his promise to make her forget how sore and tender her undercarriage was. Because the iron grip of the corset currently compressing all her internal organs was doing a fine job of capturing all her attention. Thomas hadn't spoken to her once, other than to subtly give her more assistance in and out of his low-slung sports car and then whispering how lovely and elegant she looked, pointedly running his hand down the laces under her dress as he ushered her into Jerwood Hall, where a fundraising luncheon would also act as a photo session for _The Daily Mail_. To Lauren's horror, she recognized the quartet on the stage as hers- well, the other three that made up the original quartet with her, along with a new cello player. Thomas, who had his hand on the small of her back, felt his wife stumble slightly. His gaze followed hers to the musicians and his hand squeezed her waist. Leaning in, he murmured, "They had to replace you, of course. While I am quite happy and proud to see you perform with the full orchestra, you no longer have time for these little engagements." The look of fury she gave him turned her eyes a chilly purple-grey. It was not a pleasant color, or a pleasant expression.

Lauren's heart was hammering in it's constrictive cage of steel boning and satin, and she formed a ghastly attempt at a smile on her face as the two clueless members of the quarter raised their bows to her in greeting as Macie looked away, expression stony. Waving back weakly, she numbly followed her monstrous spouse's guiding hand to their table. 'Act normally, don't show it, don't show _anything_!' she repeated the furious mantra over and over, trying to recover her shallow breath before she passed out. There was a part to be played, after all. A somewhat hungover-looking Arabella and her vile husband were seated at their table, along with the handsome Number Three and his sweet Clara.

“Ah, our dear Lauren.” Number One’s voice was fond and avuncular, and it was all the girl could do to keep from launching across the table at him. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek until she could taste the soothing coppery sensation of her little wound. She learned the habit when her mother died and Frank would be drunkenly crashing around their expensive brownstone in Manhattan, railing against the injustice of fate leaving him with a daughter instead of a wife. “How lovely to see you here, instead of laboring as the entertainment today.”

The girl could feel Thomas’s hand tighten on the rigid satin and steel compressing her waist, his long fingers still leaving their warning squeeze. “I loved playing with the quartet, Mr Kingsley-”

“Ben, dear. Do call me Ben, we’re family now.” Gaze darting between a pale and silent Arabella and the insectile stare of her husband, Lauren forced another facsimile of a smile.

“-but I know working on the fundraising side with Arabella will be so…” Lauren almost choked on the words, and she could feel her husband's long fingers tighten again. “Will be so meaningful.”

The black, beetle-like leer of the Corporation's president made her want to shudder, but the girl kept her set, bland smile until his sinister attention turned elsewhere. "Very good, little girl." Lauren shuddered involuntarily as Pine's rich, sonorous tone stroked along her sensitive ear. "There's my happy, content bride." Looking down to see her knuckles turn white as she gripped her linen napkin, he growled low in his throat. "No naughtiness, darling. I can feel you wanting to make a scene. But you know better, don't you?"

At that moment, his bride was trying to catch her breath again. Everytime she started getting angry and breathing more heavily, the implacable strength of the corset would curtail anything but the lightest of gasps. When a photographer from the " _Fail_ ," -as her friends here called it- came over, Lauren angled herself as nudged by Thomas to lean against him gracefully and smile as if she was the happiest newlywed in the world. Because if the reporter didn't believe it, her miserable father could die. Or maybe her vile husband would just cut to the chase and take her out instead. So Lauren pictured herself standing in the corner, watching the table laugh and exchange clever quips for the benefit of the reporter while dining on pheasant and salmon. Like it was someone else. Like it wasn't happening to her at all.

 

Finally sent home with Chuck as Pine returned to the Corporation's offices to finish the day, Lauren tore out of the car the moment it stopped, hustling up the stairs and jamming her keys in the lock and disarming the security system. In a moment she was in the ground floor bathroom and wiggling like a demented eel, tearing off the pretty dress given to her by her new husband and clever fingers frantically searching for the bottom or top of the laces on the corset, wanting to get the fucking thing off- "Goddamnit!" she hissed, "how the hell do I get- Fuck!!" The symbolism of trying to tear free from her beautiful restraints couldn't be more obvious, and Lauren knew it. But her entire focus shrank to tearing this thing from her body- but when her fingertips finally reached the end of the lacings, she felt something strange, metallic. Frowning, she twisted, angling her body to look behind her.

"Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?" Lauren screamed, or tried to with the limited amount of breath offered to her. There was the tiniest of padlocks at the top of the corset. At the bottom, and a third in the middle, so even if she tried to cut the laces loose, she was not getting free from this infernal contraption.

 

The sun was slanting over the tops of the slate roofs around the house when the weary girl heard the door open and close, calm, measured footsteps coming through the entryway and into the kitchen. Lauren could hear a soft shuffling that told her Thomas was looking through the mail that she would pick up from the floor under the mail slot and then leave on the little mahogany table near the door where he kept his keys. Her full lips twisted bitterly. He had her trained like a faithful dog in only a matter of days. Though, today she was more like a show poodle, standing adorably on her hind legs and "arfing" on cue.

"Darling?" Despite herself, the girl shuddered. That Voice... She heard the footsteps move into the hallway, pausing between the great room and the wide stairway. "Where are you, little girl? Don't you know it's naughty to hide from your Sir?" Still, Lauren folded her arms over the monstrous device that had confined her all day, angrily refusing to answer him. To her alarm, she could feel her thighs press together as his footsteps paused, then turned in the direction of the bathroom where she was still sprawled on the pristine white tile floor. Breathing growing even lighter, the girl was horrified to feel her center heat up. It sounded like he was... hunting her? Thomas was silent now, the only sound in the quiet house the light 'click' of his A Diciannoveventitre loafers. Lauren suddenly wanted to get up- to run or hide or do something- but it was too late and the door opened, blinding her momentarily as the setting sun glanced off the bathroom mirror.

"There you are."

Shivering in spite of herself, Lauren could feel the cool tones of disappointment in her fearsome husband's beautiful voice. Thomas stood over her, hands plunged into his pockets as he examined her. "And why are you sprawled on the floor of the bathroom, little one?" When she refused to answer, he gave a sigh and elegantly hitched his trousers as he squatted closer, examining her. "You've been such a good girl," he murmured, disapproval clear. "And now I find my sweet bride sulking on the floor like a child?" 

Taking a deep breath that seemed to cut off mid-inhalation, Lauren gritted her teeth. "You locked me into this infernal device."

"Yes," Thomas agreed, eyeing the torn dress resting on the sink. "And?"

Lauren was so enraged that she coughed as she tried to gather the breath to shriek at him. Thomas propped his chin on one hand, elbow resting on his knee as he waited for her. There was so much she wanted to spit at him... venomous, hateful and cruel. The nerve of this fucking dick, and- And she wanted to beg him to put himself inside her again as he cut this miserable contraption away from her body, let her draw a full breath and come screaming on his cock, and- Okay, seriously, what the fuck was wrong with her? Also, she had never said 'fuck' so many times within one 24 hour period.

"Hmmm..." Thomas settled himself comfortably on the floor next to her the warmth of his skin suddenly feeling comforting against her chilled skin, because really, this tile was fucking freezing, and there was another 'fuck.' "Let me extrapolate from the poignant scene I find before me." He enjoyed the look of hate his bride gave him from her watery, bloodshot eyes. "You attempted to be a bad girl and remove your corset without my permission." Lauren breathed heavily, coughed at the effort and looked away. "Then," he continued, "you realized the discipline garment you are wearing cannot be removed without taking out the padlocks first?" He cocked his head at her inquiringly, as if waiting for her confession. Instead, he enjoyed her slitted-eyed glare. "Then," Thomas continued casually, one finger beginning to idly stroke along the sumptuous swell of her breasts, heaving so delightfully over the satin confines of her corset, "being the stubborn creature that you are, you still fought against the corset until you ran out of breath, and ended up here on the floor of our bathroom?" Lauren made an abbreviated noise of fury and tried to pull away from his wandering hand, only to be held in place by the other. "Such a face..." he scolded indulgently, enjoying how his bride was simply seething with helpless rage.

She was a _good_ girl- she'd _always_ been a good girl- but Lauren was so angry! At herself, at him, at the whole bizarre, twisted mess that landed her here on the elegantly tiled floor of Thomas's ground floor bathroom. And she wanted to kill someone- but the girl's furiously rotating thoughts made it difficult to specify whom. "I hate this!" she hissed, common sense overridden by her ferocity. "I hate _you_! I don't deserve-"

Within a second or two, she was off the floor and straddling her formidable spouse. "You will not speak to me in such a way, little girl." Pine's tone could have been chiseled from ice, and Lauren shivered accordingly. "I decide what you deserve. I decide how you will handle these challenges." His grip tightened unconsciously, and the girl gritted her teeth. She wouldn't show a thing to this man! "I have made every effort to give you as much choice as I can within the confines of..." for a moment, the unflappable exterior of Thomas faltered, then his mouth tightened again. "...of who and what we are. But you _belong_ to me." He watched her mouth open, hateful words ready to spill from those full lips and shook her lightly. "You want to be good, sweetness, I can feel it. You know that life with me will be so much more pleasant as a good girl, don't you?" The last query was nearly a whisper as Thomas leaned into her, mouth moving against her reddened cheeks. His hands were moving now, sliding soothingly up and down her bare arms, tickling along the top of the monstrous satin device and settling her thighs more comfortably over his lap. "Why be angry and rail against the little things, when you know..." here, his agile tongue slipped out, tracing a delicate line down her throat and circling her collarbones. "...you _know_ how good I can make you feel? Hmmm?" Lauren's lashes were fluttering frantically, trying to keep her eyes open against the feel of his hot mouth on her skin. "Darling," he purred against her neck, enjoying the way his new wife's hips would twist against his groin, "you are such an intelligent girl. Such a strong girl- you've had to be. This is not the hardest thing you've had to do."

Lauren yanked away from him, her legs trying to push free from her confines on his lap. "Don't you dare- don't you talk about my mother!" She gritted her teeth, refusing to let herself cry. He knew about her friendship with Macie. He knew she'd been a virgin. And aside from the odd interview in his office when they spoke about her mother passing from cancer, the girl suspected her horrible husband knew quite well how much she'd had to shoulder after losing Aurelia. This man had violated every part of her life, even the parts she held sacred. And yet she'd still played his games! Did she have any decency- any backbone at _all?_

 _Damn him!_ Thomas refused to let her loose, calmly holding her wrists together and simply letting her bat furiously at his chest until she tired. Lauren's struggle wasn't a long one- the goddamned contraption she was locked into cutting off any vigorous rebellion. And when she was finished, he simply sighed and moved his long arms around her heaving body to hold her. "I have you, Lauren. Go ahead and be angry, or sad. it's all right to hate me." These kind words of course had the opposite effect, and his infuriated and exhausted bride began crying as if her heart was breaking, arms wrapping around his neck and hot tears staining his shirt. And the terrifying Number Two of Jaguar Holdings simply held Lauren as she cried, rocking her calmly. Though part of him wondered if there would be a time she would stop... crying. He knew why she cried. It was understandable. But there'd been quite a bit of tears in the short week they'd been married, and his cold heart was cracking around the edges. 

And this would never do.

 

Finally feeling Lauren's sobs reduce in volume and frequency, he stirred and gently readjusted her again, trying to keep her away from the inevitable swelling of his cock. Really, Thomas thought crossly, it was as if he had no self control at all, anymore. "Would you like me to take this corset off you now, little one?" She couldn't talk yet, but he could feel her head nod against his shoulder. Pulling the tiny key out of his trouser pocket, he swiftly freed the tiny padlocks from the corset and began to unlace her as elegantly as he'd bound his wife in the first place. Enjoying the little groans of relief as her ribs were freed and breath restored to his wife, Pine hummed a bit against the delicate skin where her neck met her shoulder. He could feel the warmth of blood rushing back into her torso, enjoying the pretty flush of her skin.

"Lovely..." he crooned against her back, gently massaging her constricted flesh, hearing Lauren actually groan in pleasure as he finally finished unlacing her and freed her from the confining garment. "I do wish you could see how beautiful you are, sweetness. The lovely line of your spine to the narrow curve of your waist. I could span it, you know-" and Thomas broke off his carnal appreciation to wrap his hands around the still-tight confines of his wife's waist, enjoying how his thumbs met together. "How your sweet curves shape to align in such an exquisite way." Chuckling against the soft skin of her back, Pine began placing slow, sucking kisses against it, feeling her breath catch. "Let me take care of you." He could feel his reluctant bride's body give a full shudder against the potency of his beautiful voice. "Let me make this good for you, pleasurable. Your Sir..." Thomas's lids fluttered closed abruptly as he felt her whimper, "...can give you so many things, darling, that you never thought possible." He watched as her long fingers clenched against the fluffy bath mat, knowing his clever captive was battling her hurt and fury at being trapped against how very good her new husband could make her feel. Rough hands sliding up again to cup her breasts, Pine grinned as Lauren stiffened against his hold but didn't try to break free. Restlessly trying to shift his hips and his uncomfortably erect cock away from her, he drew in a deep breath.

"I have you," he purred, and this was the sentence that began slicing through her defenses, he could feel it with the sag of her tense spine against him. "You are mine, baby. But as your Sir, I will show you such delicious, dirty things. Experiences that will make you come screaming on my cock. Places you could never imagine. And you will love them all. Accept our life..."

Lauren's spine stiffened again, he was breaking her. She could feel it. 

"Accept what I can give you." There was something that changed in Thomas's deep, and persuasively sonorous tone then, and his long fingers began stroking and pulling at her nipples. "Marriages- unions have begun on less, darling. Think if I were the husband your parents promised you to- a King, perhaps..."

"Nonononono!" she groaned internally, "I will not let him do this again! Not the Voice..." But it was too late, and Lauren knew it. It wasn't just hearing his beautiful, measured speech, it was feeling it vibrate against her spine, tickle along her skin and make her shiver. And worse, she could picture it. Every word. 

Picking her up and carrying her to the drawing room, Thomas diabolically refused to stop the story he'd spun for her, putting her down on the wide and comfortable suede couch. "On the wedding night, so uncomfortable, not knowing what to feel?" After removing the infernal corset, his sweet bride was left only in her undies, and he pulled them down her thighs, kissing the thin skin there appreciatively. "But I would still treat you with the same care, darling. I would not force you. But that bride- in whatever time or place- would know the reality of her new life." He could feel Lauren stiffen, but he kissed her persuasively, sweetly, enjoying the hitch in her breath when his tongue slipped between her lips. "That Lauren- that wife- would know what she could fight against, and what to accept..." A stifled sob broke from her throat, and Thomas enjoyed kissing along her heaving chest, stroking her sides until she calmed and allowed him to kiss her again. "Why not be that Lauren, my lovely girl? Why fight what I can give you?"

She was trying to gather her senses, gritting her teeth against the delicious alchemy of her husband's voice, the terribly persuasive tone that made everything he said seem so reasonable- so logical. But then Lauren made the mistake of opening her eyes and seeing his beautiful face hovering over hers, a tender smile gracing his mouth and the gentle feel of his hands on her. There was something so filthily dominate of being laid out naked under his fully-dressed body, bare and open for him. "You..." Lauren swallowed, trying to form her words into something that made sense. "You terrify me."

Pine's ministrations paused then, and he rose over her, blocking the light behind him in the room, face darkened in shadow and pale eyes making him look even more like the fallen angel she already pictured him to be. "I know," he said honestly, knowing the truth could be even more devastating, more compelling, "but that doesn't mean everything I've said here isn't true." Watching the sweep of emotion across his wife's lovely, mobile features, Thomas was suddenly struck with a desperate need to be inside her- to stop all this silly indecision and turmoil. This _was_ the way it would be- but if he could just force his sweet wife to accept it- all the pleasurable, filthy, delicious things he'd been planning could be put into play. He could show her how very good life as Mrs. Thomas Pine could be. "Let me comfort you, Lauren," he soothed, "let me show you." Her eyes were huge, he noted, that pretty lavender that made his bride look even more innocent. 

Slowly, her fingers slid into his hair, and Pine bit back a triumphant chuckle. He could imagine a thousand ways to debauch that innocence from her.

 

It was some time later- and Lauren was barely coming back to an understanding of where she was as she felt the heat of Thomas spurt inside her, warming her stiff pelvis and loosening the tight tendons of her legs gripping around his waist. Her scary new husband had swiftly bound her wrists with his belt and somehow lifted her onto a hook she'd never seen near the doorway of his hallway. He'd enjoyed watching the girl teeter on tiptoe as he'd toyed with her wet and silky pussy, sliding those damnably long and knowing fingers inside her, slicking along her tender, swelling lips and embarrassingly stiff clitoris. First throwing her thighs over his suited shoulders and gleefully eating her out until she came, he'd started again until he felt her tell-tale stiffening, then leisurely pulled back to remove his clothing- the expensive jacket, then trousers, watching her desperate gaze travel over each part of new skin bared to her. His belt was already binding her wrists, and Thomas grinned in a filthy, terrifying way as he pulled his tie free to wrap over her eyes, blocking her view as he finished stripping and enjoying her frustrated little whine at being denied the view of his lovely, hard body and sculpted muscleculature. He'd bitten her then, harder than she liked and he knew that because her body would jolt and she'd moan softly, but Lauren didn't pull away, especially when he settled her on his cock and moved smoothly along her channel, strumming her oversensitive clit and whispering the devil's promises in her ear- how beautiful his sweet girl was, how very good she was for her Sir. How good he would make her feel and how much he wanted to fuck up inside her until she couldn't think of anything but the weight of him inside her. And when Thomas paused just long enough for his innocent bride to make confused, anxious noises and arch against his stilled cock- he chuckled into her ear and promised she would never have come as hard as this. And she did. Limp against the leather bond holding her to the hook and the grip of his fingers hard on her thighs around his waist, Lauren moaned and shuddered and came again as he groaned against her and came hard, just as he'd promised.

"Your Sir is so very proud of you. I will give you everything, my sweet Lauren."

 

Dimly feeling him loosen the belt and free her from the hook, all she could think in the middle of the tremors from her pussy and the slack, helpless feeling of her body, was that he could. Thomas could give her everything.

But her freedom, of course.

 

 

(Diana Molloy's "Cock of Arms")


	12. "Are You Planning My Death, Darling?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas discovers it is not as easy to manage a wife as it is terrified employees, and Lauren discovers that despite her best intentions, lust, need and hate can all co-exist.
> 
> The whole delightful murder/revenge fantasy in this chapter comes from the alarmingly creative mind of my lovely friend Kristina, who's been popping in and out with clever comments since "Dr Laing's Loose End." Takk, min kjære, skremmende venn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. WOW. The storm of fury and hate for Thomas in the last chapter was something I was unprepared for. Yes, he was much more obnoxious and autocratic than in past chapters- and letting Lauren know she was out of the quartet as she noticed her replacement was a total dick move. But really- this Thomas is so much more responsible than my other JagToms! Remember Thomas and Maura, where he's all pissy because she somehow didn't figure out he was her Sir and she should get all excited about that? (Okay, I blame that story's dynamic on my complete lack of the nuance of the Dom/sub relationship at the time. I've learned a lot, thanks to all of you.) Or Thomas BUYING Isobel? Yeah. And Robert and Angelica in "You Belong To Me, Now?" Hello? That's some fucked-up shit, people! And no one complained as vociferously about any of those Tom-based egregiousness as much as this last chapter, where Lauren had already agreed to be a sub and understood her safe words. The tiny locks are evil. She didn't know about them- but I suspect everyone's rage and fury is related more to our visceral terror of not being able to breathe, rather than Tom "being a monster" or "irredeemable and he should die," and "Fuck you, Tom," and a bunch of other stuff. Think for a minute and I suspect you might agree with me. The breathing thing is intense and scary as fuck, even if Lauren did agree to it. And she COULD breathe. I was going to soften this chapter up a bit, but decided against it. Hate him or love him, I've worked on making this Thomas one of my more responsible in terms of Dom/sub dynamics, so we'll see if you soften to him or not. But I appreciate you all and know that strong emotions rise when we become invested in a character. I've thrown my iPad against the room before screaming at a character that infuriated me. So I get it. Anyway, on we go, hope you're still on board. But I'm staying the course.

 

The "Glorious Cock Crest" courtesy of Diana Molloy

 

 

 

Lauren woke as the first line of sunlight escaped between the thick curtains on the bedroom windows, and she held very still. Her mother used to tease her when she tried to hide in bed, calling it "playing possum," like the irritable white creatures from her home state of Louisiana that would pretend to be asleep or dead when confronted with a predator. Swallowing hard, the girl pushed the memory away, analyzing where she was and what she could remember. Thomas... freed her from that horrible contraption. That was _never_ happening again. That fucker was a fucking  _red_. A hard limit red. Also, she had discovered that she could use the "F" word several times in one sentence. He'd seduced her with his voice, comforted her- though it was his fucking fault she needed comforting!- and there's the "F" word again... flushing a bit, she remembered him angling his hard cock uncomfortably away from her as he cared for her, a move she found oddly respectful. And the weird, almost "Arabian Nights" kind of tale about arranged marriages and how she should accept theirs.

And then the sex. She'd hated him so much when she'd been writhing like a demented eel on the floor of the bathroom yesterday that there would never have been a time she could have imagined agreeing to let him tie her up and fuck her again, but she had. And, with another hot flush under her fair skin, Lauren remembered she'd come three times. And then aftercare- she knew that word now- understood that's what Thomas did when he bathed her and brought her dinner in bed and rubbed her back and feet with that almond-scented cream. That part was wonderful.

Then, Lauren's mouth tightened furiously, remembering that hellish luncheon. Letting her walk in on her own quartet, realizing she no longer belonged there? Having to wave to her own replacement? Who _does_ that? It was such a dick move! And he was so condescending, chuckling in his indulgent, stupid, condescending, stupid way...

Settling more comfortably into her pillow, the furious girl let herself dream. How to rid herself of this monstrous keeper? 

_One day, having realized that he has security cameras everywhere, she has secretly slipped a knife inside of her blouse sleeve while cooking, and secreted it into a bedside table. That night, while he's sleeping, she cuts his throat. And that is that. She then goes to the safe, for which she has learned it's combo, cleans it out, puts on her beloved jeans and hoodie, erases the security camera's feed, and exits the house through a side service door and disappears Into the night._

_Taking a bus or walking, she keeps to the shadows to avoid CCTV cameras and gets herself to a bus station and heads west. She gets off as soon as she's outside the greater London area. She finds a small mom and pop drugstore that won't have a security camera connected to a larger system, and buys hair dye and a cheap hoodie in another color, and a different duffle bag. She finds a gas station restroom and cuts and dyes her hair. Changes into the new hoodie. Dumps her old one and the original duffle into a dumpster. Knowing that everyone will expect her to make for Europe, she heads North, traveling cheaply and unobtrusively as a student with mousy brown hair and getting brown cosmetic contact lenses (paying cash all the way), and loses herself in the Wilds of the Scottish Highlands before making her way up to Orkney and the Faroe islands and up to Scandinavia. She could keep moving in any number of ways before ending up somewhere outside of the Corporation's power even if it is a small hut in Thailand somewhere._

_And what of her father? Well... She's done what she could for him. At this point he has to save himself. Enough is enough._

Lauren was so immersed in the intricate fantasy that she gave a huge, savage grin.

 

It was, unfortunately, the moment that Thomas awakened beside her, and his clear gaze watched the play of emotion over his wife's expressive features. Fury. Hurt. Hate. Spite. These were all emotions he'd seen, many times before. It twinged him somewhere internally to see them on her lovely face. 

"Are you planning my death, darling?"

Lauren actually jumped and shrieked simultaneously, shocked out of her fantasy into the terrible reality of her new husband's unpleasantly knowing grin. He caught her just as she was about to flop awkwardly off the bed. Lifting her over him, Thomas settled her on his lap, the down comforter acting as a flimsy barrier between them. Lightly stroking his fingertips down her thighs, he watched her thoughtfully. "What upset you most from yesterday, sweet Lauren?"

She pressed her lips together, trying to stem the furious flow of hate and hurt. He continued smoothing his hands along the thin skin of her legs, waiting for an answer.

"Perhaps..." he mused, "being unable to free yourself from the corset?" Thomas paused long enough that his bride give a stiff nod. "And then, finding you'd been replaced in the quartet?" That was pushing her too far, because the girl hissed like a cat and slapped him across the face with all of her strength, then gasped in shock, scrambling off the bed and racing for the door to the bathroom. With the unfair agility of those long legs, he was on her in a moment. Lauren was shuddering in terror and he caged her into the corner with his arms. "You will never. Hit. Me. Again." His voice was glacial, terrifying. It reminded her of that night in his office when he'd had Chuck shoot her father in the leg.

But his timid wife was no more. Between gritted teeth, she managed, "You could have killed me yesterday, just to get off on your Dom fantasies. I couldn't breathe. What I hyperventilated? I would have died, right there on your pristine bathroom floor."

Thomas's polar gaze was steady. He wasn't going to tell her he'd been watching her on his well-placed security cameras. That if he'd seen her going into distress he would have called her to tell her where the other key was. Or Straker of course, if she seemed too panicked to handle it herself. Though the vision of his employee seeing his bride in her corset and panties made his fists tighten. There was always another key. Only a fool would rely on one means of escape. That watching her force herself to dial down every time she started to scream and didn't have the breath made him proud of her. That he was very much looking forward to one day making her come whilst wearing a corset and actually enjoying the sight of her losing consciousness upon orgasm. But he wasn't foolish or cruel enough to bait her further. "I always have ways..." she eyed his hesitation speculatively, "...of making certain such a thing does not happen. And you underestimate yourself. Your magnificent breath control- you use it for playing your instruments, especially the most vigorous and robust pieces. And you never tire. I've watched you with some admiration. It made me think of how lovely you would look, forcing your fears away in that corset."

His soothing words didn’t comfort her this time, Thomas could see that. His sweet bride’s natural need to be loved couldn’t overcompensate for her misery and betrayal. "I have practice this morning," Lauren finally said. "May I get ready?" Thomas watched her for an excruciatingly uncomfortable amount of time, then finally nodded, stepping aside to allow her into the bathroom.

 

If she thought back, Lauren would have seen much later that it started when the orchestra was served a surprise champagne brunch after rehearsal. The season tickets- wildly over-priced in her humble opinion- were already sold out and the new photo session in the _Daily Mail_ ("Fail," Lauren mumbled) had brought a flattering amount of attention on the LSO. Knowing she didn't have to drive, since Chuck was parked calmly and illegally right outside the door, she accepted a second glass, then a third, and when no one seemed to be paying attention, she poured herself a fourth round of the really lovely beverage, so fizzy... Concentrating, Lauren carried her cello out the door perfectly, knowing her grim-faced shadow would be there to take it from her with a muttered, "Allow me." And the terrifying sharp eyes of her captor/spouse were gone, along with the rest of him when she came home, so the girl helped herself to a big package of chocolate biscuits and a lovely Riesling, which she drank straight from the bottle. Why waste a glass? This led to a long nap, woken finally by the buzzing of a text on her phone from Thomas.

_"We have a dinner meeting with some French clients. Be ready by 7pm. I know you speak fluent French. Do not do so during this meeting."_

His curt and mysterious instructions made her angry, but Lauren dragged herself out of bed and pushed her short blonde curls out of her face. Heartless bastard. She could be heartless, too.

Meanwhile, Thomas was in a meeting regarding a delicate negotiation of arms sales between two equally unlikeable parties. Really, why did he allow the Corporation to stay in such a distasteful side of the business? Too many sloppy and stupid clients. Too many needless deaths. But his mind kept returning to the blank misery of his new bride as she'd escaped into the bathroom that morning. No matter what she'd expected, Pine thought with some chagrin, this was an equal surprise to him. He'd planned on getting the girl settled as Mrs Thomas Pine, fucking her a few times- she was beautiful, of course he would- then ignoring his sweet virgin and heading back to the dark and murky pleasures he'd sunk into so long ago. He'd intended to keep Lauren happy by keeping her vile father alive and giving her space for her music and social interaction with the other wives as he moved her into a bedroom on the fourth floor by her beloved instruments. The cold-hearted Number Two never expected the odd pleasure of waking up beside her warm little body, running with her in the park, how good she felt writhing on his lap as he spanked her into a near-orgasm...

"-the second shipment arrives via- Thomas, which port would that be?"

His suddenly alert cobalt gaze found everyone else at the long table looking at him inquiringly, though the pitch black gaze of Number One showed a mix of amusement and warning.

"The Port of Marseille-Fos, of course," he answered crisply. "Two weeks exactly upon receipt of your final payment." The rest of the men at the table nodded and continued negotiations, but Thomas was quite aware of the insectile gaze of Kingsley, lingering on him for several uncomfortable moments before returning back to the conversation.

Even he'd been surprised by the words flowing from him last night, trying to convince this puzzling and arousing girl that even an arranged marriage- _their_ marriage- could be something deeply satisfying to both of them. It had been a long time since Thomas had needed to woo a woman- court her. Women in his circles... they already knew what he wanted and were quite happy to give it to him. But Lauren was different- in every possible way different- and he would need to adjust his course of persuasion accordingly. 

This was never more clear than when Chuck delivered Lauren to him that evening. The dinner party was held in an old, beautiful estate home, cooked by a magnificent chef and served gracefully by waiters from some surely five star restaurant. Lauren never caught which one, exactly, but it didn't matter. She was still a bit tipsy from her permissive afternoon and spending most of her time behaving as the demure bride of the Corporation's scary second in command.

"And you, Mrs. Pine, have you ever been to Florence?"

Lifting her head with an automatic smile, Lauren found the inquiring gaze of the grey-haired man across the table. He was pleasantly rotund with a kind, wrinkled face. He looked like someone's grandpa, she thought distantly, if someone's grandpa killed people. A lot. "I have, Monsieur Boucher," she paused for a second. Boucher. Butcher. Her stomach twisted alarmingly and the girl took a hasty gulp of her Caymus Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, which made her feel vaguely guilty. Really, it was too lovely a vintage to treat so harshly- but she continued. "We stayed at the Suoro Oblate della Spirito Santo-"

"I know it," the man answered slowly, "why would you pick a humble room in a convent?"

Lauren shrugged, the first real smile of the evening crossing her face. "It was simple, but it was beautiful, monsieur. We heard the evening prayers as the sun set, and the nuns baked bread every morning to go with the honey from the convent beehives. It's one of my best memories of Florence." After a short, polite silence from the table, conversation continued to eddy around them, but Thomas watched his bride and the man who was about to buy six million pounds worth of surface to air missiles continue to talk about something as innocuous as the nun's beekeeping.

"You did beautifully tonight, darling."

Closing her eyes in a misguided attempt to block out her husband's beautiful, potent voice, Lauren nodded in a noncommittal fashion. "Thank you," she answered politely. He could hear the dull tone in her voice, but Thomas chose to ignore it.

It was impossible to ignore the painfully stiff posture of his pretty bride when they were finally safely behind the doors of their home, however. Looking longingly at the stairs, Lauren managed, "I'm really tired, I'm going to take a bath and just... you know." Leaning deliberately against the doorway leading to the stairs, Pine crossed his arms over his beautifully fitted suit,

"Are you." His resonant, sculpted voice was cool, but Lauren hardened her heart against it.

"Yes," she gritted out. "So, if you'll excuse me-"

His hand caught her arm as Lauren's foot rose for the first step. "We've been doing so well, little girl." Her frightening husband's voice was composed, even as a chill was sweeping across each crisply enunciated word. "Are you going to take a step back from all our progress? Something you have, darling, enjoyed quite a bit."

Her back was to him, but his wife paused obediently. "You told me it was my choice," she answered flatly. The girl closed her eyes, doing everything she could not to cringe.

"I did," Thomas answered thoughtfully. Another pause, and she knew he was looking her over. "Very well. Goodnight." He moved behind her as she walked up the stairs and for a panicked moment, Lauren was still frightened he'd push her into the bedroom, make her give in... But he didn't, stepping off onto the second floor, punching a complicated code into his office security system and shutting the door behind him.

Lauren was relieved enough to take a hot bath, wrapping her arms around her drawn up legs and sobbing in relief. And frustration. And some hurt. And Thomas watched it on his in-home surveillance system, index finger thoughtfully moving across his upper lip.

 

It seemed all her effort was for nothing, because the girl found herself naked between Thomas's beautifully soft sheets, eyes blearily opened to see the lights outside on the quiet street shining still. So, early morning then. It felt as if every nerve ending in her skin suddenly exploded when she heard her dark husband's beautiful voice whisper to her.

"I believe, little one, that I have been too generous with your orgasms." He gave a low chuckle, almost a purr as Lauren shuddered in response, then holding very still like a bunny trying to avoid detection from a hawk. "Perhaps knowing our time together always ends in fulfillment for you has made you spoiled, darling." Her full lips pressed together when Lauren felt his long fingers slide between her thighs, easily seeking out her clitoris and gently tickling it awake. His other hand slid up her neck to the back of her head, taking a firm grip in her hair and pulling it back hard enough that her wide eyes were looking into his. The push and pull between his movements made her back arch painfully, but she didn't dare move, still watching his shadowed face. Suddenly, Thomas chuckled, the rich sound sending alternate bolts of fear and arousal up Lauren's spine. "Perhaps it is my fault as your Sir. I do find you so utterly arousing when you come. That sweet hitch of breath when I enter you..." She bit back a moan as the two fingers toying with her clitoris moved back to her channel, circling the opening and rousing an ache from the feeling of the calloused tips rubbing against the tender tissue there. Thomas would dip in one digit, then the other, teasingly swirling in the sleek wetness and gathering it to slide up and down her slit. "...the way you push your soft bottom against me. Your back arches a bit to push harder against me, did you know that? You push against my cock? In fact," he chuckled again, this time it was lower, more of a growl, "you're doing it now." Lauren stiffened, and with a groan realized she was doing exactly as he'd said. The groan cut off into a high-pitched whimper as both of his fingers suddenly plunged inside her, scissoring and exploring along her channel, pressing on her twitching walls as his thumb took over stroking her by now painfully swollen pearl. "Is there something you would like from me, darling?" Lauren clenched her teeth. She wouldn't beg this man for anything! She refused to-

"Oh, god!" she blurted as his fingers pressed hard against a spot he'd shown her in his explorations before, one that made her pelvis push out unconsciously. "Thomas, I-"

"Shhhh..." he hissed like a snake, running his tongue down the long line of her throat. "I am your Sir. Tell your Sir what you want."

Cruelly, his fingers were moving faster, the slick inside her making it easy and then a third joined them, stretching her outrageously and Lauren heard herself huff hoarsely, her head pressing back against his moving shoulder and her hand clutching his. "It's- this is too much- you're- oh, GOD I'm going to come if you don'twaitcanIcomepleaseSir!"

And then his fingers were gone, forcing a high whine of disappointment from Lauren as he pulled his hand from her and held it in front of her face instead. Her silky juices coated it, shining in the light from outside and making her cringe in embarrassment. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Lauren," Thomas soothed her, putting one finger in her unwilling mouth, "you are never more beautiful than when you're so aroused for me, so needy. The inside of you is heaven." His voice deepened again to a rumble. "Like heated, wet velvet. I can't wait to be inside you again." Pulling his finger from her mouth with a pop, her diabolical husband ran wet streaks down her stomach as his digits slid and slipped on her skin. "Would you like that, baby? Would you like your Sir inside you?" The hand gripping the back of her head let go, but she stayed where she was, lolling helplessly on his broad shoulder, still staring up at his sculpted face as he idly toyed with her breasts. "Would you like me to make you feel all better, sweetness?"

Lauren's mouth opened, to tell him to leave her alone- that he didn't own her and she- "Yes, please, Sir." She couldn't believe the treachery of her own body, arching up again as his hand cupped her wet, aching mound.

"This-" he squeezed her pussy, "is mine." The hand playing with her breasts slid up to her throat and squeezed again, lightly this time with a thumb on one side of a throbbing artery and his index finger on the other, " _You_ are mine. Is this clear, little one?" When she didn't answer, both his hands tightened and loosened again and she gasped.

"Yes! Yes, Sir, it- I mean I am yes..." She tried angling against his stroking hand harder and his fingers pulled back to give her a sharp slap right on her slit. Enjoying her shocked squeal, Thomas went back to stroking for a moment as he lifted her thigh over his, spreading her wide. Moving his cock against her, he slid it back and forth along her, slicking his hard length and teasingly bumping against her clit before circling her opening.

"Would that be a yes? Yes, Sir, I would like you to fuck me?" His amused tone was gone now, it was harder, black with lust.

Breathing in, Lauren forced herself to meet his eyes and moan, "Yes, please! Please be in me, I would like you to uh, fuck me Sir-" Their relieved groan was mutual as Thomas plunged in and up inside her, beginning a fierce hammering rhythm that made his sweet wife stiffen against the burn, then the heat of him. It was strange, she thought in a dazed way, what an intense relief it could be to have Thomas inside her. Stretching and pulling, the feel of him stinging her but feeling so good, like something was finally being fixed, taken care of at last. Rolling her over on to her stomach, his big hands went to her hips and briskly pulled them up, knees nudging her apart so he had more room to push deeper inside her. The strike of the sharp bones of his hips against the globes of her ass made her grip a handful of pillow, needing to squeeze and yank to counteract the intensity of what was happening inside her. Thomas wasn't even touching her clit- but it was rubbing against the sheets in a delicately irritable way, arousing her worse but not quite allowing enough sensation to let her come. And when she tried pressing against the smooth cotton, her unkind lover yanked her hips higher, denying the friction. Hearing her frustrated gasp, Thomas purred soothingly, sucking her earlobe between his lips.

"Is my poor darling getting frustrated? Do you need something more from your Sir?" His hips began thrusting even faster, infuriatingly as his position kept her from seeking any relief. Lauren could feel their sweat sticking his front and her back together, the carnal "squelch" of their wet, conjoined bodies sounding so loud in the quiet room, their gasping and her small, frustrated moans, growing louder as she tried arching back against him. "Ah, you are, aren't you? Wanting something more to make you come?"

Lauren's gritted teeth had just loosened enough to groan, "Uh, huh..." when she felt Thomas stiffen above her, then shove hard inside and hold there, feeling the flood of his come warm her sore insides. Then his abrupt withdrawal and rolling away, coming back with a freezing cold cloth to clean her and quelling her arousal. "But, I-"

Tossing the cloth into the dirty clothing hamper, her suddenly cool spouse returned to bed, settling beside her but not touching. "As I said, dear wife. I believe I have spoiled you with too many orgasms. Perhaps you need a few days of disciplined focus to consider your behavior." With that, the horrible man easily fell asleep.

Breasts heaving in rage, Lauren stared at the shadows moving on the white ceiling about the bed, fists clenched and not sure if she hated herself or Number Two of Jaguar Holdings more.

 

Waking up the following morning, Lauren stiffened angrily as she remembered the night before and the girl's hands moved to her body, slowing as she realized she was fully dressed in the same clothes she'd worn to bed. A cautious dip inside her panties showed her she'd not been touched, though her treacherous clit was still quite alert and hopeful. "It was a dream?" Lauren mouthed to herself. Turning to look over her shoulder, she found her beautiful husband asleep on his back, mouth slightly open. He was dressed in cotton sleep pants. She was suffused with fury and irritation. "It WAS a dream! That bastard has even taken over my dreams? Is there any fucking place in my life that he's not invaded now?" Biting the inside of her cheek and waiting for the comforting coppery sting, she rolled on her side away from him, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to keep herself together as it felt like her body wanted to explode.

 

The "Glorious Cock Crest," courtesy of Archy 3001

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. It was a dream. Sorry. She said "No touchie touchie." And while Thomas may be an evil mastermind, he has to abide by his own promise of it being her choice. But that doesn't mean she's not wildly conflicted about it.


	13. A Mexican Standoff In Suburban London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas and Lauren hate each other's guts. Until they don't.
> 
>  
> 
> Mexican standoff: a confrontation amongst two or more parties in which no strategy exists that allows any party to achieve victory. As a result, all participants need to maintain the strategic tension, which remains unresolved until some outside event makes it possible to resolve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: spanking, violence, attempted abduction.

 

 

The bitter standoff between the new Mr and Mrs Thomas Pine continued for a week. Lauren practiced for several hours a day, only leaving her fourth floor conservatory when she knew Thomas was gone. He would fall asleep at night hearing her furious movements over and over on her cello. Sometimes when he was in his office and the surveillance cameras were on, Thomas would unconsciously relax, leaning back against his leather chair as he watch his wife play her violin, or grinning slightly when she amped up her bass guitar. God... his head lolled back on the padded seat, a vision of his demure bride in leather pants and wailing out something by Paramore... angrily pushing down his sudden erection, Pine rolled his head, making his neck crack and getting back to work.

 

Coming home later one night after a "meeting" Numbers One and Three had insisted be conducted at a Corporation brothel, Thomas strolled into his house, a little drunk and unreasonably furious at his elusive Lauren. How could the stupid girl not appreciate what he'd done? Saving her worthless father- keeping her from having to select yet another coffin for a parent... He strolled into the living room and poured himself another drink, idly loosening his tie and hearing the girl viciously saw through "Orlando furioso" by Vivaldi. Smiling sardonically, he soundlessly walked the stairs to the third floor, deliberately letting the bedroom door bang open, hearing the music abruptly stop.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..." 

Lauren's head dropped back, shuddering suddenly as the music of her husband's beautiful voice poured through her. She could almost not miss the melody he played on her body if she didn't have to see him. Or better, not hear him. She'd stayed hidden on the fourth floor for most of the week, even curled uncomfortably in that damnable chair that- knowing her husband better now- was quite certain had been selected for it's supreme discomfort.

"Lauren. You will answer me." The light humor was gone from his tone, the commanding chill spreading through her spine.

Clearing her throat, she realized she'd not spoken for a couple of days. "Yes?" Looking around her, Lauren attempted to tidy up a couple of empty wine bottles and a half-gnawed wedge of Camembert. 

"Come down here." 

Groaning under her breath, she blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and wiped her damp palms on her skirt, ascending the stairs as ordered. Stiffening her spine and lingering on the landing of the third floor, Lauren eyed the cold, beautiful face of her husband. He was leaning against the doorway to their bedroom, arms folded as he watched her. When she attempted to raise an inquiring eyebrow, he angrily gestured her closer with two beckoning fingers. The girl was trying to obey without actually getting close enough for Thomas to grab her.

"You called?" Her attempt at light and breezy came out in an anxious croak.

He stepped forward, looking down at her, the dim light from the bedroom slanting across his sharp cheekbones. "I believe you've hidden upstairs, sulking long enough. You will put your instrument away and come to bed." Her eyes were wide, the violet shade that showed that his bride was anxious. Thomas had enjoyed learning her moods more than he'd anticipated. But then Lauren stiffened, her nostrils flaring.

"Why?" she seethed, "It's clear you've been finding alternative... entertainment. Whoever she is, maybe suggest she doesn't hose on that godawful perfume next time." Thomas's brow rose as he registered hurt and fury fighting for prominence on Lauren's pretty face.

Despite himself, a cold grin curled his lips. "I don't believe that's a concern of yours, darling. Particularly when you find your marital... duties so distasteful." Thomas was surprised to see Lauren stumble back a step, pain twisting her full mouth.

She was humiliated to feel how much his admission hurt her. That she felt stupid for feeling... special? Like Thomas might have been as aroused by her as he'd... well, what he'd made her feel? "Whatever," Lauren finally hissed. She tried moving past him into the bedroom, but her confusing new husband grabbed her arm.

"Another American vulgarity you will remove from your speech," Pine snarled. Leaning in to sniff her neck, he chuckled coldly. "And go wash off the stink of all that wine. Do I need to put a lock on the pantry?" Her hand came up so quickly that Lauren didn't even register it until he gripped her wrist harshly. "I told you, you will _never_ hit me again." Without another word, he pulled her closer with an arm around her waist and carried his stunned bride to the bed. Lauren suddenly gathered her senses and began kicking and struggling against him. He laughed harshly, seating himself on the mattress and throwing her over his lap. "Not to worry," Thomas sneered, "I have no interest in your tasty little pussy tonight. It's your ass that requires my attention."

Lauren struggled harder as she felt the cool air of the room on her suddenly bare bottom as he flung up her skirt and ripped her panties down her legs. "Don't you dare, Thomas! You- OW! Stop it!" But she felt one muscled forearm come down hard over the small of her back as one leg pinned her two kicking ones under it. And then the next slap across the unprotected skin of her ass. There were three more before her horrible spouse paused for a moment, lean muscles in his thighs shifting as he reached for something on the table next to his side of the bed.

"I will not require you to count these strikes," Thomas said with a terrible, good humor in his voice. "You won't have the presence of mind this time. But in the future..." 

The next impact made the girl scream in shock. It was not as if this hit against her already red ass was more painful, but the chill and the wideness of the instrument he was using against her was overwhelming. It took another blow for her to recognize it was the silver-backed brush Thomas had used on her hair in a more tender, comforting time. And that was what made her heart break. And made her fight even harder until the next swat made her scream again. 

"Hold still, little girl." The sonorous  voice of the monster she'd married still poured over her shattered nerve endings like a balm, even though the brush came down again. And again, and again, until he'd spanked her ten times, enjoying how the raised "P" engraving on the back made such an enticing corresponding mark on Lauren's pale bottom. "Lovely..." he mused, running a cool hand over the heat of her, tracing the marks with one long finger. Feeling her body heave against his legs as his bride wept, Thomas sighed and lifted her upright and against one shoulder, rocking her until she stopped feebly swatting at him and allowed his comfort against her will. His stubborn, beautiful girl refused to say another word, even as he bathed her, gently rubbed a cooling lotion into the bright red skin of her ass and pulled her into his long arms back on the bed, feeling her breath even out as she fell asleep. Thomas stayed awake until dawn began lightening the horizon, trying to understand this confusing, infuriating creature.

 

Giving up on going to sleep, Thomas went running that morning, unreasonably angry at Lauren for not being there, running alongside him. Of course she wouldn’t be- even if they were back on good terms, her shapely ass would be in no condition to do so. But… she should be. He’d enjoyed the few times they’d run together before the Mexican Standoff that kept his bride hidden on their fourth floor. Then, of course Thomas was angry for being angry. ‘God!’ he thought furiously, picking up his pace, ‘Why did anyone get married? This is ridiculous!’ 

Meanwhile, his exhausted wife was dragging herself out of their sumptuous bed, equally furious at Thomas. Raising her nightie to look at her reddened ass, Lauren gritted her teeth in rage. Her first season performance with the symphony was tonight- she’d been practicing obsessively and now simply sitting down would be a challenge, much less concentrating on playing her best. “Bastard!” she snarled, “Selfish, horrible, condescending son of a bitch-” Pausing for a moment, Lauren’s fair brow raised. Speaking of family- though certainly in the most disrespectful way- she realized that she didn’t know a single thing about Thomas’s family. For Christ’s sake, the man couldn’t have been hatched from an egg! They certainly weren’t at their wedding, but did Thomas have parents? Human beings he called “mom,” and “dad?” Cautiously, she went through his exquisite closet, gingerly opening drawers and looking for photos, and kind of memorabilia. She’d not seen any photos anywhere in the house. Hands slowing as she closed the last drawer, Lauren slumped against the wall. Did gangsters just not… have family? Cutting down on the potential liability of loved ones? So… what was she? The girl’s lip hovered between a sneer and a tremble. Someone that wouldn’t cause much of a stir if she disappeared? Idly walking through the house, Lauren poked through books in the crowded shelves in the living room, looking for photos. Kitchen drawers… the pantry. Nothing. Leaning against the beautiful stone counter in defeat, the girl finally shook off her curiosity and fetched another bottle of Chardonnay from the pantry, making herself a sandwich to accompany it. Hearing her phone buzz in her purse, Lauren sighed and defiantly took another swig of the rather nice white wine. It would be Thomas. Because no one else called her any more. The phone buzzed angrily again, as if her horrid husband somehow knew she was ignoring him.

Finally, the blonde stalked over and yanked her shiny new phone out. A text. Curt and to the point.

_"There is a season opener soiree the Corporation is hosting before the performance tonight. You will be required to mingle and chat with our more prominent donors before going backstage. I'll pick you up at 6pm. Be ready."_

Lauren's fist tightened on the phone, wanting to throw it across the room and hear the satisfying shatter as it hit some- no doubt expensive- item in Thomas's high-tech kitchen. Bastard. Autocratic asshole! Looking at the time, the new Mrs Pine growled as she realized she only had an hour to get ready. Abandoning her sandwich but dragging along the wine bottle, Lauren angrily stomped up the stairs like a child, trying to make as much noise as possible.

 

Nonetheless, Lauren was ready at 6:02pm, hair up in an elegant twist and looking calm and collected in her off-shoulder black, velvet dress. Fortunately, the costumer for the LSO had excellent taste, so the female musicians had a universally flattering dress- full, sweeping skirt, tight bodice and a v-cut neckline that gracefully showed off a woman's collarbones and not too much of the bosom. Sweeping majestically out the door after keeping Thomas waiting for exactly three minutes, she handed her cello case to him to stow in the back of his Jaguar- which took a bit of effort in the sportscar, Lauren noticed with some malice, and seated herself, stiffening as he bent over her as usual to fasten her seatbelt. They drove in silence for a short time until Pine used his most infuriating, condescending drawl. "Do you understand your responsibilities tonight?"

Lauren rolled her eyes, "Of cour-"

"That's one." Pine's eyes were still on the road, but there was a certain set to his jaw that spelled trouble.

"One, what?" she asked in spite of herself.

This time, her dark husband side-eyed her briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "Your insolence will be dealt with after the performance tonight."

"My insolence?" Lauren prostested angrily, "You- dude, you couldn't even see me roll my eyes, so-"

"That's two," he interrupted calmly, "insolence, arguing with me- ah, really, that's three for the gratuitous American slang. I've told you to stop using it."

 It was entirely possible that the girl's next move was to fling herself over the gear shift and attempt to strangle the horrible man who'd ruined her life- as evidenced by her raised arms and fingers curled into claws. It was, however, also the exact moment that the rear window of the Jaguar shattered and they heard the screech of crumpled metal as another car slammed into the BMW driven by Chuck, tailing them as always. Thomas instantly yanked Lauren down by one arm to keep her out of the line of fire and jammed one foot on the brakes while hauling the steering wheel to the right, spinning them into a neat circle that ended up with the car facing the damaged one of his employee, whose face was bloody, but based on his coldly furious expression, not badly injured. His car door was ripped open and Pine instantly seized the head of the invader and slammed it viciously against his dashboard, knocking the man out. Unfortunately, Lauren's door was opened simultaneously and she was yanked out by another man, gun placed and pressing hard into her abdomen. Stepping out of the Jaguar with his hands up, Thomas eyed his wife. Lauren was pale, but she was calm and her mouth in a tight furious line, looking between him and her bodyguard to make sure they were both alive.

"Heeey, Tommy! How's it hanging, motherfucker?" The idiot currently training his Glock on her husband apparently knew him, and this theory was solidified by Pine's expression of well-bred contempt.

"I believe you've been sniffing too much of your own product, you imbecile." Tom leaned against the car in a deliberately casual fashion. To Lauren's relief, the thug jamming the gun into her ribcage must have decided she wasn't a threat, because he pulled the weapon back, at least enough for her to draw a breath.

The man taunting Pine turned to look at her with a grin. "Well, well, honey. Aren't you just pretty as a peach. Did Tommy here pick you up in one of the Corporation whorehouses, like Kingsley did?" His accent was American, Lauren thought absently, maybe Texan?

Admittedly, she didn't exactly think before she spoke, but the new Mrs Pine snarled, "Unlike you, cowboy, my husband doesn't have to _pay_ someone to sleep with him." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see an actual expression of surprise cross her stoic husband's face before a corner of his mouth turned up in a smile and he focused on the suddenly infuriated American again.

"Coleson, how desperate can you be to try something this stupid?" Thomas's voice was ice. "What can you possibly think will happen after pulling a gun on me? On my _wife?"_ There was a sudden fury in his voice that made even Lauren take a step back. "I will burn your pitiful group of fuckwits into ash."

Growling, Coleson raised his pistol, ready to slam it against Pine's face and incongruously, all Lauren could think was, 'Don't hurt his face!' Eyes darting back to Chuck, she saw him nod slightly to the right, where the second man who always accompanied him was edging behind the chase car driver holding a gun to his head. 

Letting out a shrill shriek, Lauren sobbed, "Don't hurt Thomas! Don't! We- we just got married!" She was struggling to give a convincing wail, but it was at least enough to get both Coleson and her husband to stare at her as Chuck's partner bashed in the head of the man holding him hostage, giving Chuck room to grab the gun and let off a shot that nailed the American in the shoulder. Which, then gave Lauren the (rather impressive, she thought) strength to yank out her cello case and smash it against the head and upper torso of the man holding her hostage, who had, admittedly, lost his focus during all the shooting. But it was enough to drop him like a rock, and while her husband drove his fist into the face of Coulson, both Lauren and the cello were put abruptly back in the car as Chuck not-quite yelled at Thomas to do the same. 

The Jaguar took off like a meteor, streaking down the roadway with the only sound being Thomas's curt order to "Fasten your seatbelt, darling."

"What the _hell?_ What the hell was- seriously, what the hell was _that_ , Thomas? Who were those assholes?" Lauren's shaking hands struggled to do as she was told, even while trying to demand some answers. 

"Language," he chided automatically, while keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. At her outraged hiss, Thomas unbent to explain, "Coleson is a coke-addled simpleton who's furious that I stopped the Corporation from dealing with his idiot drug ring in America. Apparently, he's taken it rather badly."

His wife's next question was cut off by the scream of metal grinding against metal and the rather painful snap of her head backwards from the impact of another car hitting theirs from behind.

”Take the wheel.’

”WHAT?” gasped Lauren, “Are you nu-“ she swallowed back a scream as Thomas’s hand yanked hers to the Jaguar’s steering wheel. 

“Keep us steady if you want to live.” With this deeply unhelpful advice, her husband pulled an alarmingly large firearm from the car’s center console and turned to fire rapidly out his window, one polished shoe firmly holding the gas pedal down as Lauren clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, ignoring her chattering teeth and forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road in front of her. 

The first blisteringly loud “pop!” of the handgun shattered the windshield of the remaining car in pursuit, and after the third shot, the girl could barely hear the wild screech of the tires over the loud ringing in her ears as the grey SUV behind them veered violently and then flipped off the road. Thomas’s dark head pulled back into the car and he handed the gun to a horrified Lauren, handle first. 

“Take this,” Pine was pleased to see his wife didn’t say a word, eyes alarmingly huge as she took the firearm and relinquished hold of the wheel. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator and they shot down the road.

It took Lauren a moment to recover the ability to speak. “Don’t you ha...” she paused, then tried again. “Don’t you have to check and see if they’re...” Thomas forced himself not to smile as his poor wife licked her lips, attempting to string together a coherent sentence.

”The Corporation’s backup was right behind us, they’ve already signaled they’ve reached the crash. It would be unwise of us to linger.” Pine side-eyed Lauren’s set, pale face. She hadn’t screamed, nor cried. It was possible she was in shock, but he didn’t think so. He gently put on hand on hers, limp on her lap. “Are you all right?” He expected crying, hysterics maybe. Possibly unhinged laughter. Instead, Lauren started singing.

 

 _”Ninety nine red balloons_  
_Floating in the summer sky_  
_Panic bells, its red alert_  
_There’s something here from somewhere else_  
_The war machine springs to life_  
_Opens up one eager eye_  
_And focusing it on the sky_  
_The ninety nine red balloons go by-“_

 

”Darling, what the hell are-“ Thomas stopped, then gentled his tone. “Why are you singing a German ‘80’s song?”

Now, Lauren started to laugh, “Oh! ‘Grosse Pointe Blank’ when he takes out the East German assassin with a ball point pen to the ear at his high school reunion? Remember? And then his friend the real estate guy helps him stuff the corpse in a locker? Or was that the boiler in the basement?” Pine was silent as he drove, hands gripping the steering wheel, listening to his wife absently hum the rest of the song as she tried to remember the murder sequence. Finally pulling herself together a bit, she sucked in a shaky breath and smoothed her hair. “You know, John Cusack? The movie? This isn’t like, required viewing for gangsters and hit men?”

Pine found himself letting out a deep sigh as he patted her hands again. “You did well, darling. Magnificently, in fact.” Looking over, he gazed at her slack jaw doubtfully. “I don’t believe you’ll be able to play tonight, however. It’s a bit much after-“

Absently flapping her hand in a dismissive way, Lauren answered blankly, “Don’t be silly. I’ll just need to change- this dress  has blood all over the skirt.” It took her another minute to gather her thoughts, and then she tried to sound firm as she added, "You're gonna... you know, the whole thing with the Corporation whorehouse and the Texas drug ring... thing... you're gonna have to explain that stuff. Later, though. Okay?"

Simply nodding, her dark husband turned towards Hampstead Heath, listening to her sing,

 

 _“_ _Mann, wer hätte das gedacht?_  
_Dass es einmal so weit kommt_  
_Wegen 99 Luftballons..."_

 

Thomas deftly stripped Lauren back at the house, and helped her shower quickly. It was the first non-sexual touch they'd had in some time, and he was irritably forcing his cock back down at the sight of her lovely, pale body. It didn't help that he'd been sporting a constant erection since running those imbeciles off the road. And remembering his sweet, virginal bride crack that bastard American over the head with her cello case? Magnificent.

She seemed to start coming back to herself as Thomas briskly dried her off, laying out (with an inward smirk) his choice of a lacy pile of ebony undies and bra to wear under her other orchestra gown. Fully dressed, Lauren hastily re-applied her stage makeup as her curiously kind spouse zipped her up, pulling her hair free of the collar and straightening the skirt. Hands over the bare skin of her shoulders, Pine stroked her collarbones with long fingers as he watched her.

"How do you feel?"

Lauren's eyelids fluttered a bit, just the way that always did when he used the Voice, this time deep, compelling and with a rather startling note of sincerity. "M'okay," she mumbled, before shaking her head and standing straighter. "Surprisingly good, in fact." She felt absurdly grateful for the warm, approving smile her beautiful husband/captor/savior/assassin gave her in return.

"Good," he kissed the top of her head and led her from the bedroom. "Did you check your instrument for any damage from finishing off that oaf with the case?"

A bit of a laugh escaped from Lauren before she realized she was chuckling at someone's imminent demise, even if it appeared he'd certainly planned on killing _her_. "I did," she agreed, "that case is like titanium, I swear."

Back downstairs and opening the door to their connected garage, the girl stopped short. "Your Jaguar turned into... another Jaguar. That's the best fairy godmother ever."

Thomas laughed as he carefully stowed her instrument and opened her door, helping Lauren into the new car. "This is the F-type R Coupe, matte black and capable of 289 kilometers per hour on an open roadway. A crew from the Corporation's vehicles division retrieved the other car." He was just rounding the corner of the park that separated the elegant section they lived in from the more busy, crowded part of the area when Lauren's hand landed on his thigh.

"Stop the car."

He looked down, concern on his beautiful face. "Are you all right, darling? Are you sick?" With a sudden movement, his formerly shy wife was straddling him, hitching up her sweeping velvet skirt to rub her lace covered mound against him. Hands sliding up to bracket his face, Lauren put her mouth on his, kissing him feverishly, hard sucks and licks along his lips until they opened and for the first time, she slid her tongue into his mouth with a sigh of pleasure. Thomas groaned. He knew she was simply feeling the giddy arousal that comes with survival, with violence and triumph. But her agile hips felt so good swirling against his crotch and good Lord, he'd been hard for the last hour. Still... "Lauren- sweetheart-" with an effort, Pine pulled his head back. "I don't want to take advantage of you after such an intense-" His delightful little trollop cut off his rather gallant effort by fastening her lips over his again and unzipping his fine wool trousers, yanking open the belt and making a gutteral sound of delight in her throat when she realized her wildly arousing husband hadn't bothered with underwear that day. Thomas helped her by yanking aside her flimsy panties and holding his cock steady, his other hand on her hip and helping her center herself over him.

"Oh..." it was barely an exhalation from her open mouth, but Lauren's dreamy smile gave it away, her pleasure in sliding down- pushing herself over her husband's thick shaft. She had _missed_ this. Not that she would ever admit it, but god, Thomas felt so- A stifled chuckle from the man she was riding made her freeze in horror, which pulled a corresponding groan from Pine as she unconsciously gripped down on his cock at the same time. Dropping her face into his neck, Lauren mumbled, "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

Sliding his fingers into her hair, Thomas pulled her head up and looked at her, grinning, but his cobalt eyes warm, reassuring. "Well, yes, darling." He grinned again at her pleasurable shriek as he drove his hips up sharply against her, shoving himself deeper inside her pussy. "But I promise never to tell a soul. But as we're being so open with each other..." his hands gripped her waist and began moving her up and down on his shaft, pulling up quickly to hover just inside her opening, then brutally yanking her down on him, groaning against the pull and resistance of all that heat and wet inside his bride. "I quite agree. It has been far too long since I’ve been inside you." One of her hands gripped the shoulder of his suit, the other slid to the back of his neck as the girl tried to balance herself and kiss him at the same time. As his arms flexed, moving her faster, Thomas enjoyed watching the lovely bounce of Lauren's breasts, wishing he could rip the dress off of her and really enjoy this pretty body... this lovely, tight pussy that belonged to him. But instead, he settled for sliding his hands under her skirt and gripping the globes of her ass harshly, continuing to move his bride brutally fast, enjoying hearing her moan each time he bottomed out inside her. Feeling the first of those tempting flutters from inside her pussy, a flexing that rippled in tighter and tighter movements up and down his cock, Pine groaned and tried to focus. "I can feel you, sweet girl, you're tensing against me, ready to come. You want to come, don't you?" One long finger slicked against the lovely mix of her arousal and his precome and slid to the pucker of her ass, idly circling it as she stiffened. Which made Lauren clench down against his cock again.

"As much as I adore the strength of your warm little pussy, if you keep clutching against me, I fear you're going to rip my cock right off my body."

Lauren bit her husband's earlobe quite a bit harder than she'd planned. It was something she couldn't defend against- his deep, nearly guttural groan, the dark rasp of those filthy words in her ear, and the strength of him. Even arching her hips away from that damnable finger of his just drove her clit harder against the coarse hair on his pelvis. So really, there was nothing left for her to do but come. So, Lauren did, with a scream that startled even her, still pushing up and down on his spurting cock and rubbing her slickened ass against his scrotum. It was greedy, it was wanton, and she'd never come harder. Panting with her face buried in his neck again, the girl could hear her dark husband murmur "How beautiful you are... how sweet my good girl is, how delicious." He was stroking his hands soothingly up and down her back and kissing along the pale column of her neck. Lauren found she was shaking- she wasn't certain why. Thomas felt it, and wrapped his arms around her for a moment, feeling her chilly skin warm against his embrace and the shivering stop. "You're coming down from all that adrenaline," he soothed, kissing her again. With a regretful sigh, he helped her off his softening cock and pulled out the pocket square from his suit to help tidy her before straightening her panties back into place. Lauren was still silent, he noted, but Thomas didn't push her, simply settled her back in the low-slung leather seat and putting the car back into gear with a single, salacious wink.

 

Settling into her chair onstage and rapidly making sure her cello was still in tune, Lauren couldn't keep the silly, little smile off her face. She must be insane. She must be just as amoral and evil as her crime-lord husband. But she'd never felt so alive, almost fierce. So when she caught Macie looking over at her with a puzzled expression, she couldn't stop herself from giving her old friend a huge grin before leaning into the neck of the cello, bow poised and ready.

In the audience, Number One looked at the composed expression on the handsome face of his second in command, noting calmly that the fool's trousers bore blatant evidence of exactly why the new Mr and Mrs Pine missed the season opening soiree.

From the lovely brain of CatchallCarryall- thank you so much! I'm just thrilled you're reading my nonsense, much less making fan art! I'm truly honored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not seen the sheer gloriousness of John Cusack and Minnie Driver in Grosse Pointe Blank, I insist you go track it down on Netflix or something. 80's music, entertaining assassin's and a high school reunion that's going to make yours look like a fluffy trip to Cotton Candy Mountain. Here's my favorite scene: https://youtu.be/fgkq9qK_yEo


	14. "Is my terrifying bride brave, as well?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren is rewarded for being a complete badass by her doting spouse.

 

Part of Lauren sat somewhere outside herself for that next 24 hours, just watching in amazement at what had become of her. Not in the coping way she was used to- separating herself from misery or trauma- more like... astonishment.

Astonished at how she played beautifully in her first formal performance in the soaring hall of St. Luke's. How she kept her gaze from the Corporation's private box, but bit back a smile, knowing her husband was watching her with a knowing gaze. How she graciously laughed and spoke with everyone afterwards, hugging her fellow musicians. How she finally walked out the door to find Thomas waiting for her, leaning against a pillar with his arms folded. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, whispering in a voice so sinfully pleased, "Such beautiful work. I have never enjoyed a concert more, darling." Lauren bit back a groan, knowing she was flushing a mottled red and hearing his low chuckle as he took her cello case.

There was silence for a moment as Thomas's new matte black Jaguar turned for home.

A giggle erupted from Lauren before she put a hand over her mouth. As her husband looked over at her, brow raised, she finally offered, "Well, that was a full afternoon."

A fleeting smile went over his thin lips. "Quite. Are you all right?"

Shrugging, Lauren was about to go into her patented "I'm always fine!" response, then stopped and thought for a moment. "I'm... actually really calm. I probably should be more upset, huh?"

Thomas's warm hand slid over her thigh. "You were magnificent. I knew you were intelligent and resourceful, but really, darling, you exceed my expectations."

 

But the moment to really question her sanity began as Thomas took her hand and led her rapidly up to their bedroom. "Thomas..."

"Shhhh..." he whispered, rapidly unzipping the back of her dress, "where did my magnificent Valkyrie learn to crush a villain's skull with her cello case?"

Despite the really distracting- and painfully arousing- feeling of her husband's lips moving down her spine, Lauren laughed, embarrassed. "Uh... some guy tried to mug me in Manhattan when I was attending Julliard. I was turning to try and run away from him when my arm swung out with my case and clocked the bastard. Knocked him right out." To her belated relief, Thomas did not admonish her for her language and merely gave a low, savage chuckle that made her shudder against his mouth.

"Clever girl," he soothed, "you didn't fall into hysterics, you were magnificent." Pine was mildly irritated as his bride pulled away from his efforts to strip her of her gown and turned to him.

"Soooo..." she drew out the question, knowing it would irritate him. "Will these random fender-benders be a part of life as a Corporation wife?" Lauren realized the question was ill-advised when a shadow fell over Thomas's beautiful face, like a cloud passing over the moon.

Harshly yanking down the black velvet clinging to her hips, he snarled, "I shall make quite certain we never hear from this particular brand of idiots again. Now..." his ocean blue eyes were travelling lazily up and down her body, appreciating her black, strapless bra and the little undies he'd slipped up her legs personally earlier that evening. "...perhaps you will allow me to focus on something far more interesting than those pathetic coke fiends. Your lovely breasts in particular."

Lauren allowed him to tumble them both on the bed and even wrapped her legs firmly around his narrow hips. Incongruously, however, she burst into laughter.

Irritably lifting his dark head, her husband fixed her with a steely glare. "You're distracting me, darling."

Smoothing her hands over his sculpted shoulders, the blonde simply continued giggling. "You know during the Prohibition in the early 1900's in America, the gangsters would hide their guns in violin cases and carve an opening at the top of the case." Smiling devilishly at Pine's speculative expression, Lauren ventured, "Imagine what we could conceal in my cello case, like a surface to air rocket launcher, or someth-"

Growling, his lean body arched over hers and stopped her with a kiss. "You will never be in that position again, little girl. I shall make quite sure of it." Thomas tried to bend in and kiss her again, but with a rather loud grunt of effort- Lauren managed to flip them, hovering over him with a dark smile. 

"You can't make sure of it, Thomas. But you can teach me more about defending myself." Giving a deliberate, long roll of her hips, she enjoyed the involuntary groan from her husband's perfect lips. "You don't want some pathetic little wimp for a wife. You like that I could maybe kick some ass..."

Tightening his thighs against her, he flipped them again, biting down on the throbbing artery in her neck as he growled, "Maybe, my arse. My sweet." He kissed her soundly, "Little. Demure. Wife." She was breathless when he finished the assault on her lips, and he growled a little, the sound rippling through the thin skin of her throat and making the girl let out an embarrassing whimper. "You took out a contract killer with a vicious swing from an improvised weapon. I find you to be a bit... terrifying." Thomas found he loved the way she felt when his surprising bride laughed, breasts jolting and teasing along his chest, legs tightening and loosening, the look in her eyes when Lauren gazed up at him without fear, for a change.

"Terrifying? There is a word," she giggled, "that has never been used to describe me. But it's kind of flattering, to be honest." Lauren paused her banter as she watched something dark sweep over her husband's face, his features deepening, turning sharper and more harsh.

"Is my terrifying bride brave as well?" Thomas inquired, innocently raising a thin wrist and kissing it.

The mood in their shadowed bedroom suddenly changed, charged with something Lauren couldn't identify. "I... yes?"

His answering grin was not comforting. "Will you trust me to take care of you? Make you feel good?" Lauren shuddered a little, but not in an unpleasant way. His hands were sliding down her arms to curl around her wrists, drawing them upwards over her head. Thomas suddenly lifted her from the bed and set the girl on her feet. "Go into the bathroom and take a shower. When you get out, put on the outfit I'll have laid out for you. Then kneel on the cushion you'll find at the foot of the bed." He could feel his wife's body stiffen, going still. Her shallow breathing still moved her luscious little nipples against the black lace of her bra and the starched cotton of his shirt. But... Lauren didn't bolt. She stayed in his arms, wrists still held in his long fingers. Leaning his head down to run his tongue along the sculpted line of her jaw, Thomas used his most darkly persuasive tone. "Are you my good girl?"

The silence stretched out between them, and a sudden, savage jolt of pleasure ran through him as he felt her blonde head nod against his neck. 

"Will you go take your shower like a good girl?"

Lauren nodded again, then paused and cleared her throat. "Yes, Sir."

Thomas groaned internally. He would never make it inside her. He was going to come like a teenaged boy, he knew it.

 

"You can do this..." Lauren's hands were on her thighs, bent over slightly in the steamy bathroom as she fought to control her breathing. "Like this can be scarier than the guy jamming a gun in my ribs today?" But she knew her terrifying, mysterious spouse was _far_ scarier than some coke-addicted thug from Texas. Standing up, she brushed her hair, trying to restore her curls into some order and dabbing on a bit of lip gloss. "Be brave," she counseled herself, praying Thomas wasn't standing just outside the bathroom door and listening to his bride talk to herself like some pep-talk spouting lunatic. She should still be totally like... pissed off at him, right? He'd spanked her ass purple just the other day. And now she was going out to kneel on a cushion like some pet? Like, a pet, pet. "Not a human pet but like a cat or something-" Stopping her semi-hysterical internal rant, Lauren bit her lower lip, chewing on it reflectively. Why didn't she use her safe word when he'd spanked her with that brush? With a flush of shame, the girl realized she craved his attention, the way Thomas touched her so much that she was willing to put up with the spanking for the aftercare. When her beautiful husband would smooth his cool hand over her blazing ass, wrap his arms around her and murmur lovely, soothing things in that elegant, resonant voice of his. Drawing in a deep breath, she eyed herself doubtfully in the mirror. She was so _not_ cut out for this shit. She was an American- the kind that went to school and yapped on Facebook and awkwardly conversed with boys who didn't ask her out again. So how did she end up married to an international crime lord? With a semi-hysterical giggle, Lauren mumbled, "What's the line, 'In for a penny, in for a pound?' Okay. What the hell."

The bedroom was cool, dimly lit and her beautiful husband was nowhere to be found. With a nervous sigh, Lauren found the tiny undies and white balconette bra waiting for her on the bed, then a creamy silk slip to cover them. Adjusting the bra to let her breasts swell enticingly, she pulled the slip over her head and looked around the room for this... cushion thingy? Finding it at the foot of the bed on his side, she breathed in deeply. This was a line she was crossing. She could feel it. A line stepped over that put her under him. In so many ways. Nonetheless, the girl settled herself on the thick cushion and fluffed her hair and looked down to make sure the slip was low enough to show off the pretty shelf of bustline the bra provided her.

"Lovely."

Lauren jumped and almost screamed as she realized he'd been in the room the whole time, watching her primp and hearing her inane little pep talk.

His tall figure stood from the wing chair in a darkened corner of the bedroom, strolling over to her in a leisurely fashion. "Hmmm..." Thomas purred, "yes, lovely. How fortunate I am, my sweet, demure bride kneeling so enticingly?" His left hand moved and Lauren shuddered a bit to realize he was holding a long, thin cane. Yeah, it was a cane, thank you very much, Google Image. The thin rattan slid up her spine. "Back straight, darling. Ah, perfect." It touched next under her chin. "Look at me." When she did, Thomas bit back a growl. The light from the windows slanted across her pale face, making her huge purple eyes turn luminous. The cane slid down one smooth arm, stroking along her with a feather touch. "Your beautiful little body is perfection when your posture is so straight, so disciplined." He made a leisurely circle around her cushioned island. "Do you remember your safe words, lovely?"

Her blonde head was lowered again, but Lauren nodded.

"Ah..." the cane was under her chin again, lifting it. "Look at me. Your safe words?"

She licked her lips nervously, and Thomas bit back another groan. "Um, red for stop, yellow for slow down?"

"Good girl..."

He watched her shiver a little. Lauren _was_ his good girl. She wanted to please, she wanted to make people happy, to make them approve of her. But this afternoon's bizarre encounter proved his sweet bride was no pushover. The tip of the cane slid down one long thigh, idly lifting the hem of the slip, drawing it lightly upwards. "So very lovely, my wife," Thomas mused, enjoying how her breath came a little faster. "You look so sweet, so untouched," he teased, "in this pretty white lingerie."

She gave a little huff, then a brief chuckle. "You know that's not true," Lauren looked up, mischief in those arresting eyes, "you made certain of that yourself, Sir."

Biting back another growl, Thomas idly rubbed his swelling cock through his trousers. "And with great pleasure, I assure you, darling. But there's so many bits of your virtue still to take, my pure little one."

Lauren's head tipped back apprehensively. "O- Oh?"

That damnable cane slid across her cheek, lightly tapping her lips. "Here." When his instrument of potential torture headed towards her bottom, she shifted with a squeak. "And here," his voice was guttural again, greedy, "but not all the way tonight, baby. All right?"

What was "Not all the way?" Lauren wondered, but chewed her lower lip again and nodded.

"Are we still green?" Her terrible husband's voice was sin- soothing, calming, and filled with all manner of filthy promise. Nodding, she looked down again. "Use your words, lovely."

With a poorly suppressed moan, Lauren managed to mumble, "Yes, Sir. Still green."

"Good." It was one word, but Thomas suffused it with carnal intent, and she shuddered a bit. "Stand up, and close your eyes." His warm hand swooped down to hold her elbow, steadying the girl. "Hands behind your back, crossed at the wrist. Feet together. Back straight." She could feel the cane travel slowly over her breasts, down the flat planes of her stomach and over her thighs.

"OH!"

Thomas snapped the cane lightly over her thighs, still covered by the silk slip but just hard enough to startle her. "Back. Straight. Little one." With a shuddering sigh, she did, and he examined her carefully. Beautiful posture with that long spine. Eyes still obediently closed and a thick curtain of lashes hiding those exquisite violet eyes of hers. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing rapid, but not fearfully. This surprised the man a bit. He'd seen her search history on her laptop. His adorable little wife knew exactly what a cane was and what it could do. But she wasn't frightened, at least not catastrophically so. Leaning in, he deliberately ran his nose along her neck. "You smell delicious, little girl. I can hardly wait to. Eat." Lauren heard a faint "snick!" sound and something cut through the straps on her slip, sending it fluttering to the floor. 'Ah,' Thomas thought, 'there's that frightened little gasp.' 

"You."

Another little rasp of the blade and her pretty bra met the same fate.

"Up."

And... now her undies were gone, leaving his lovely bride bared to him, eyes still stubbornly shut. 

Lauren dimly heard the rustle of fabric before a soft, stretchy material covered her eyes, Thomas's fingers lightly sliding along it to make sure it wasn't too tight. She shuddered as his warm mouth met hers, opening her lips and sliding his tongue inside with a deep groan. He tasted of peppermint, a tinge of scotch and she pressed her lips harder against his. his corresponding groan made her smile. His hands slid up her arms, and he was guiding her around the bed and helping her on to the mattress. 

"On your knees, resting on your feet." His azure gaze watched Lauren nervously settle into position. "Put your hands on your thighs, darling." She did. "Now, spread your knees." There was a brief pause until his bride felt the tip of the cane slide along her leg and spread her thighs for him. She shivered a little as the weapon slowly made it's way to her bared pussy, lightly touching one lip, then the other. Thomas draw in a shuddering breath, then purred, "Perfection." 

She heard the sound of his zipper opening, a loud as a cannon shot in the still room, and Lauren was embarrassed to feel herself shiver with anticipation. She was facing the edge of the bed, and with her dark husband's superior height, when his hand cupped her cheek and drew her closer, her lips were perfectly aligned with the heat and weight of his cock, nearly slapping against her mouth. The girl could taste the wet, silky tip of him and made a pleased, little humming sound. Opening her lips, Lauren remembered herself and stopped.

"Good girl." Thomas's perfect elocution was slurred, watching his perfect bride wait for his instruction. "Now, baby..." she felt the cool trail of his slick against her cheek and Lauren blindly turned her head, seeking his cock again. "Open for your Sir." The column of flesh that invaded her throat made the girl gasp, and that only allowed him to push deeper, past her gag reflex and into her throat. He slid back and forth for a moment before pulling himself out, giving her a chance to pull in a huge gasp of air. "Still green?"

It took her a moment with his heated shaft in her mouth, but Lauren remembered and nodded, not letting him slip from her lips. His answering groan left her with a tiny, pleased smile. His hand went to her neck, taking a fistful of hair and gently pulling her head back, enjoying her startled gasp before his cock slid further down her throat. Gritting his teeth, Thomas enjoyed only a moment of the tight grip of her airway before reluctantly pulling back. "Such a very good girl," he managed to praise her, "your Sir is so very proud of you. Now, on your back, hands raised above your head." 

Lauren nervously obeyed, putting her hands together and feeling him settle her head on a pillow comfortably, pulling her hair loose so it wouldn't be caught and pull under her. She let out another quiet yelp when he swiftly tied her hands together and looped them over something on the bed. His hand touched her cheek. 

"Color?"

"It's still green, Sir," Lauren managed, feeling completely out of her depth and for some reason, sort of okay with it. Maybe it was the madness from today, or playing her part tonight as if nothing was wrong, but being tied and blindfolded by her fearsome spouse was... good. Arousing. She could feel his pride when Thomas leaned close to whisper in her ear.

"Such a _very_ good girl."

There was a rustle of movement over the sheets, and then his weight dipping the mattress again. His hands pushed her knees even further apart. "Never deny me the sight of you..." he was grinning, Lauren could feel his teeth against her cheek, the arrogant bastard! But nonetheless she held still grateful for the blindfold so she didn't have to witness her husband's extremely close inspection of her most private parts, his fingers sliding along her lips and spreading her wider for him. When his lips descended on her clit, the girl was distracted enough that it took her a moment to feel the cool press of something against her anus. Lauren could feel the lube helping the little bullet-shaped device enter the tightly puckered ring.

"S- Sir? I'm not sure-"

Thomas's hand paused. The little silicon thing was already nestled between her cheeks, but he didn't move it again. "Does this hurt?"

His wife's voice was small. "Not much."

"Your color, baby?"

Lauren sighed deeply. "Green." She felt the smooth press of the small vibrator slide in and settle itself inside her ass, just an inch or so in. But when it suddenly started buzzing, she let out a squeal, trying to close her knees. She could hear the deep chuckle from her husband as his warm hands spread her legs apart again. 

"You look..." there was a deeply satisfying groan from her jaded spouse and Thomas continued, "so delicious. So filthy. Your pert, firm ass closing against the toy. How does that feel?"

To be honest, it was the first toy Lauren had experienced and she wasn't sure how to answer him. It was small enough and he'd used enough lube that it didn't hurt. It was just... having it there. And then when it started vibrating! She could feel the pulse in her pussy, along her slick lips and eventually, heading up her spine as it suddenly ratcheted to a higher speed. Her back arched involuntarily, and the girl was shocked to hear herself moan, "Why don't you put yourself... you know, why don't you..." Licking her lips, Lauren managed to moan, "Put your cock in me and feel it for yourself?"

It was apparently the perfect thing to say, because her husband's warm, thick shaft began burrowing smoothly up her channel, enjoying her whimper and the twist of her pelvis as they both felt the vibration shudder along their joined bodies. It distracted her enough that the sting and stretch of Thomas pushing inside her was not as uncomfortable as the handful of times before this. 

"Hmmm..." Lauren heard his appreciative groan, "I have missed being inside this perfect cunt." She pulled against her bindings, suddenly wanting to run her hands through his close-cropped hair, tighten her fingers into the thick muscle of Thomas's shoulders, but she simply moaned in agreement. In response, she could feel her husband's agile hips speed up, moving in and out of her faster, two fingers sliding and slipping along her wet button of a clit, tapping, stroking, then sometimes capturing it between two knuckles and pulling. "The feel of you is exquisite, darling." His voice was a little hoarse, deeper and a bit harsher, "Feeling the vibrations from your tender ass. I do believe you might like something larger there, wouldn't you, baby?" Thomas grinned down as she shook her head, a little grateful that his sweet bride was blindfolded because his look of almost savage intent was likely quite alarming. "Not tonight," he soothed, "I did promise. But I will fuck your tight, delicious ass sometime very soon, and you will beg me for it."

The girl wanted to sneer, shake her head again and hiss at him, but instead Thomas's beautiful, sonorous filth made her shiver and then a shameful little whimper broke free. The strange, intrusive thing in her bottom and the lovely weight of him inside her pussy was nearly unbearable, and yanking uselessly on her tied wrists once more, Lauren wrapped her legs around his hips, enjoying his sudden groan as her heels pressed hard on the dimples just above his tight ass. He moved faster, just as she hoped he would and a flood of dirty compliments poured into her ear as he slid one hand under the arch of her back to press the girl more deeply against his pounding hips and the other hand harshly tweaking her nipples.

"It's time to come now, sweet girl. Come for your Sir. This is mine, and you will give it to me."

With a final, vicious shove as deep inside her as his cock could go, Thomas grinned to feel his bride's legs tighten like a vise against his waist, just as her pussy gripped his shaft, squeezing the come boiling out of him and warming her channel. Sliding his thumb along the little bullet-shaped vibrator in her ass, he pushed it in and enjoyed her squeal as Lauren came again almost instantly. Murmuring praise and soothing compliments and little, tender words, Thomas stayed pushed inside her as tightly as he could until all his wife's internal muscles loosened and allowed him to free himself and the toy.

Dimly registering that her dark husband was gently wiping her clean and covering her with a cashmere blanket, Lauren managed to make some kind of affirmative noise as Thomas whispered, "Oh, _such_ a good girl. Your Sir is so very pleased with you." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want through some positions and such for Dom/subs on Tumblr- yeah, I know, what a scientific source! But it was all quite interesting, so you'll be seeing some lovely, specific requirements from our Thomas over the next chapters. And since it IS our Thomas, I doubt you will be displeased.


	15. A Sultry Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren gets to know her husband's tastes in bed a little more. A lot more.

From the lovely Diana Molloy

 

 

Thomas strolled back from the bathroom after cleaning himself of their play. The _smell_ of her... he'd found himself sniffing his fingers that had been inside his wife, admiring the gleam of her slick gathered around his cock. Lauren was sleeping the deep rest of the extremely satisfied. Without too much self-indulgence, it was a view, Thomas noted, that he had seen many times post-coital. But this was perhaps the first time he witnessed the view in his bed, in his home, and the first time that he almost instantly wanted to wake her and take her again. Irrationally, he felt starved for her- even though he’d feasted liberally from Lauren’s gasps and moans, from the greedy clutch of her cunt and all that divine sweetness that poured from her. But looking at his bride’s serene face, he wanted to start all over again. Pine’s lips curved in amusement as he remembered Lauren’s comment- it had been quite the afternoon. Reluctantly ignoring the stirrings of his lower half, he slid in behind her and felt the girl’s softer parts curl against his harder angles, wrapping one arm over her hip and kissing his wife’s neck before succumbing to sleep himself.

 

Lauren woke abruptly the next morning, eyes wide as the events of the previous day came back in force. 'Holy shit...' she thought. 'Well, that's... you know...' Surprisingly, it wasn't the attempted abduction, taking out her attacker with her cello case. It was climbing over her husband's lap in the car and essentially attacking him like a drunk girl on Prom Night. Then, last night, all tied up and coming while she screamed like a banshee. The girl buried her face in her hands. What had she turned into?

"Good morning, my savage little Valkyrie." Lauren smothered a groan as the resonant, amused tone of Thomas came from behind her. The mattress dipped as he leaned in to kiss the back of her neck. "How do you feel this morning?" His warm hand slipped down over the curve of her ass, making her cringe as she remembered the toy he's put inside her the night before.

"Fine." Her face was still buried in her pillow, and if she smothered like that, it would be just fine.

The low rumble of his laugh shivered up her spine, and Thomas pulled her away from her down-filled fortress. "Come, darling. You'll feel better if you stretch your legs and take a run with me." He actually bit back the laughter that wanted to erupt when one resentful lavender eye slitted open to stare at him.

"Is this from experience?"

This time he did laugh. Pulling his limp wife from the bed, he answered, "Yes, I promise you. Go get dressed."

 

As it turned out, her unfairly handsome husband was correct, Lauren found. After a couple of blocks, she could feel the sore muscles in her lower half loosen up as her blood flow increased, releasing the tension. Lifting her head a little, she smiled into the sunlight, feeling it warm her bones and allowing herself to be happy. Maybe she could be a badass, like Thomas. 'Except the murdering part,' she added, sobering a bit.

"Would you like to stop for a chai?" Pine's deep voice interrupted her musing and Lauren nodded. When she ordered two black coffees, no sugar or cream, his elegant brow raised. 

"For Chuck and..." Lauren paused, realizing she'd never learned the name of the other man who guarded her. 

"Aimes," Thomas supplied, and she nodded, heading for the black Mercedes at the curb. The deeply tinted window rolled down, and she handed the cups into Chuck. It was her first chance to get a look at him since the attempted assassination, and she was relieved to see that he, and- who? Aimes looked fine.

"No ill effects?" she asked carefully, not sure how one would inquire after their bodyguard's health after nearly being shot on the side of the road. A hysterical little giggle tried to bubble up her throat and Lauren sternly clamped it down.

Chuck, as always, was implacable. "All's well, Miss Lauren. Are you enjoying your run?" Suddenly, the complete incongruity of the situation hit her, and she couldn't control her laughter.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Chuck," she gasped, "I'm just in a silly mood today, I don't know why."

It was the always silent Aimes who spoke up then, shocking her. "Well, nearly getting shot will do that to you, Mrs Pine. Thank you for the coffee." Chuck's finger went to the window button and the black glass slid up, blocking her startled expression.

Returning to her husband, who was lounging elegantly in his uncomfortable wrought-iron chair with his forefinger pensively stroking his upper lip, Lauren was struck with an almost paralyzing bolt of desire for him. Thomas's long legs were stretched out in front of him and those electric blue eyes sought out hers, crinkled in the corners in a half-smile. "It seems you all had a nice chat," he observed calmly, taking another sip from his paper cup.

"Mmmm..." Lauren nervously gulped half her chai tea, instantly regretting it. Her horribly amused husband watched her gasp and cough until she'd recovered some breathing function, cheeks flushed and eyes watery.

"Darling..." Thomas's voice was at its most beautiful, most compelling. "You seem so shy today."

Her gaze reluctantly rose to his, "No, I'm just, you know..." Lauren sought any word that would explain how she'd handled the events of the last 36 hours. "You know... just acclimating."

"Ah." She watched as Thomas took another sip, watching his throat, and then as he shifted, the movement of the muscles under his thin black t-shirt. "Such courage."

Lauren started laughing. "Yeah, that was shock yesterday with the cello case, not courage."

Her laughter died as she watched his gaze darken over his coffee cup. "I was speaking of last night. Such a good girl for your Sir."

Taking another unwise gulp, she waited it out before trying to speak again. 

Thomas was watching the play of emotion across her expressive face, knowing his guileless bride had no idea how much she gave away. "You were... delicious. Perfection." He started laughing as Lauren made a small whining noise, burying her face in her cup. His long fingers went to her chin and raised it. "There is nothing," he said gravely, "nothing to be embarrassed about. Not for being so lovely and exquisite, so demure and so very good." Watching her pale skin heat up like an instant sunburn, Thomas repeated, "Such a very good girl." When Lauren finally raised her gaze to back his, Thomas smiled devilishly. "Would you like to be your Sir's good girl again?"

"Yes." Lauren whispered without thinking. She shivered a little as her husband's eyes turned dark, like a storm at sea.

"Come along, little girl," Thomas growled, and they ran- not jogged- ran home.

 

"Don't you dare come," her cruel husband gritted out between clenched teeth, "if you come I will punish you severely."

'Is he kidding?' Lauren thought, half delirious and trying not to give into the burning sweep that was pulsing from her pussy down to her toes, up her spine and making her hands twitch in their bonds. She was arched painfully in their bed, hands tied to the hook in the headboard and Thomas's hands yanking at her hips, pulling her back on his cock instead of thrusting into her. When they’d made it back home and raced three flights to their bedroom, he'd put her on her knees, and sternly inquired, "What are your safe words?" As she stammered out a reply, Thomas was fastening his mouth almost immediately to her pussy, teeth joining lips and tongue as he greedily explored her.

"T- Thomas, I'm not tidy-" she tried to protest, shy that he'd ripped her running shorts off her body and threw her on the bed before she had a chance to shower or even take a quick sponge bath.

"You are mine," Thomas had admonished, words a bit muted by his mouth still fastened to her pelvis. "I will have you any time I wish. All of you belongs to me, sweet, sweaty... it doesn't matter." He'd moved her knees farther apart then, which made Lauren shift awkwardly, trying to maintain her balance. 

"What are you-" her still-scary husband was fastening a strap to her left knee, leather or something, and then another to her right. They were attached to a bar that kept her knees wide apart, her balance on her bound hands and her back arched beautifully. Lauren was panting, feeling Thomas's hand slide up her spine.

"Beautiful," he murmured appreciatively, watching the shift of her shoulder blades, like frail wings. Smiling at his flight of fancy, Thomas settled in behind her, giving his stiff cock a few strokes. Sliding the wet tip up and down her slit, he was pleased to see her slick making it easy. "How beautiful you are when you're bound like this, sweetness. Helpless, but so brave. Just waiting..."

Lauren tried to turn her head to look at him, then yelped when his hand came down in a loud crack against her ass.

"I did not give you permission to move." Thomas's voice was cold now, and she shivered without knowing it.

"I-" she tried, and he cut her off.

"I did not give you permission to speak, either."

Lauren's eyes squeezed shut. He felt like a stranger again, her husband, a man who had her at his mercy and she didn't know what he would do to her. Unlike her miserable tears on their disastrous wedding night, however, this felt more like anticipation than terror. So she simply waited, hanging in an uncomfortably stretched line of arms and legs to see what he'd do next. When his shaft suddenly forced it's way up inside her, Lauren let out a shriek. She wasn't expecting it- Thomas always prepared her first and this was invasive and a little terrifying.

"Do I have gag you as well?" His cool, precise voice was just by her ear as her husband bit into her shoulder.

Opening her mouth to answer, Lauren paused. Should she? Was his question overriding his comment about not giving permission? Shit, this was confusing...

Thomas grunted as his cock met the top of her inside, pausing for a moment. "You may speak."

"No... uh, Sir. I can be quiet."

He groaned internally, feeling his cock swell enough to make him wonder if the skin would split off of it. "Such a good girl. Very well." Lauren felt his hands move to her hips, and Thomas yanked her sharply back onto his cock, shoving her body back and forth on him, instead of the other way around. "I do so enjoy feeling you bounce on my cock, little girl," he purred, "your greedy little cunt squeezing me." Lauren only made a single, desperate moan before gritting her teeth. "Poor lamb," Thomas sympathised, "trying so hard to be a good girl, but this part of you-" one hand came down and slapped the top of her wet center, coaxing out a yelp from his bride before she pressed her lips shut, "-just keeps wanting to disobey, doesn't it? Wanting to come no matter what your Sir tells you." Lauren's eyes clenched shut as he gave a particularly vicious thrust. "We'll have to teach this naughty cunt how to behave." Speeding up now, he repeated his warning. "Don't you dare come, little girl. You will not enjoy your punishment."

Lauren made a high, desperate whining noise. Of course she was going to come. How could she possibly hold off, now that he knew all the ways to send her into an orgasm? Things she'd never even imagined before becoming Mrs Thomas Pine. Perversely, looking at her wedding ring was the thing that set her off, making her bite back a hoarse moan as her channel clutched violently against his cock, trying to squeeze him out, trying to clench him in. With a disapproving noise, Thomas yanked his dick out, briefly enjoying the gleaming surface, wet from her. "Oh, Thomas, please-" Lauren gasped out, knowing if he'd just stay in her she could come again, something he'd taught her so he should have the common _decency_ to let her-

His hand came down again on her exposed clitoris, effectively cutting off the girl's desire to orgasm twice. "I am very disappointed in you, darling." Thomas's voice was cold, and Lauren felt like crying.

"I'm sorry, I-" His hand came down again, the sting worse from her clitoris being so wet.

"I did not give you permission to speak. Two infractions. Quite unruly." She felt the bed shift as her husband climbed off, leaving her shaking in her bonds. Next, the blindfold from the night before was slipped over her eyes. "Some think the leather flogger is worse than the cane," Thomas said conversationally, and Lauren shuddered. "It is really a matter of preference," he said thoughtfully, but with a low tone of amusement. She jumped as she felt a sting against her inner thigh, biting back another yelp. "The cane stings," he whispered into her ear, "terribly, sometimes." Lauren arched against her bonds, yanking desperately as the leather strands of the flogger went against her ass and the back of her thighs. His voice was in her other ear this time, "But the flogger burns, so many strands to catch the skin." The flogger hit again, this time on the small of her back before heading down to her ass, the bare soles of her feet- and Lauren did shriek this time- the fifth strike on her breasts. "I won't punish you for that, sweetheart," Thomas said maliciously, "I do know the flogger is difficult to handle, particularly in the beginning. But you will get used to it. And then I can strike you harder."

'Harder?' Lauren thought deliriously, 'Jesus Christ, harder? Are you shitting me- OH!' Thomas thrust back inside her, this time holding her hips immobile as he pounded into her, stroking her sore clitoris but spitefully coming too quickly for her to join him. His long body was laid over her back, knees between hers in the spreader bar and hands stroking along her shaking arms. 

"Beautiful, lovely girl," Thomas whispered into his trembling wife's ear, "your Sir is so pleased with you."

 

He'd released her from the bar, her blindfold and the restraints around her wrists. Thomas was about to rise and get a cloth to clean her, but Lauren grabbed his hand. When he looked down, his face was kind, making her gulp in relief. "Could we just... would you mind just holding me for a minute?"

He was moving against her nearly before she could finish her plea, and Lauren sighed in relief as her husband's long arms wrapped around her, feeling him kiss the top of her head. She could feel his legs, lean muscle flexing as he stroked them along hers, nuzzling into her hair like a jungle cat. He reminded her of one sometimes, maybe a panther... something sleek and deadly. But right now, all that strength and his body enclosing hers felt wonderful, comforting. When Thomas finally rose to gather cream for her abraded wrists and back, soothing her and cleaning her of sweat and their come, Lauren was boneless. She knew she wanted to think about what her terrifying husband said to her, what he did- but right now, all she wanted to do was curl around him and sleep for a while.

Lauren woke to the sound of Thomas's cell phone on the bedside table. Sighing, he picked it up, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes?" She couldn't hear what was being said on the other end of the line, but she could feel the big body next to hers grow still. "Very well. We'll be there in an hour."

"What's up?" Lauren tried to sound like her brain was fully functioning, but when she looked at Thomas as he rose from the bed, her heart sank. His face was set and composed, his voice indifferent. 

"Get dressed," he answered, "one of your more sophisticated black ones. We have a dinner meeting with the head of Bratva. He's in town," he added ominously, "this is a surprise."

Clutching the sheet to her chest, Lauren could feel her breath hitch. "Oh, _shit,_ " she mumbled.

 

 

From the lovely Archy.


	16. The Team Building Exercise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren is forced to participate in Bratva's bizarre form of "hospitality."

 

 Archy's lovely "Cock of Arms"

 

 

"Stop staring at me. That side eye is going to give you a headache."

Thomas's eyes hadn't diverted from the road, Lauren thought resentfully, but of course he caught her effort to watch him while trying to be inconspicuous about it. She wanted to ask just how bad this was going to be. This dinner had surprised Thomas, and she knew without asking that her scary husband did not like to be surprised.

"Sorry."

They stopped for a red light, and he looked over. His bride looked beautiful- sleek, shiny updo and a pair of pretty diamond studs in her ears. Simple, elegant. The cold Number Two of Jaguar Holdings knew the girl felt awkward many times- well, most of the time when it came to her confusing and often terrifying new life. But he'd been taken with how gracefully she'd handled so many... sticky situations. Internally groaning as he thought again of Lauren knocking the seven bells out of that Texas thug with her cello case, Thomas irritably willed his swelling cock to stand down. Taking pity on her, he took her warm hand and squeezed it gently. "I know you're too clever to think this is a relaxed social occasion," Thomas said calmly. "Semion Mogilevich is an... important business partner."

Lauren looked down at their loosely clasped hands. Semion Mogilevich was, in fact, the head of the murderous Bratva empire. She was quite capable of using a search engine. She knew exactly the kind of monsters the Corporation were in bed with. Which made her wonder just how monstrous _they_ were as well. What was her husband capable of, this man who tied her up and taunted her into multiple orgasms, who held her hand and curled behind her and soothed her when she was shaken by just how far he'd brought her into this dark and alluring world of his... He was capable of kindness, her husband, even if he had forced her into a life she never would have chosen for herself. Her mouth twisted unattractively. Of course, it could be said that Frank forced her into this life by leaving them wide open to his coercion. If her father had been a valuable member of the Jaguar Holdings empire, Thomas could not have demanded her hand in marriage. Rubbing her forehead, Lauren vowed to stop thinking about it. These thoughts would swirl round and round in her brain until she stilled them with enough glasses of wine and hopefully, sleep. She had the luxury of neither tonight, since she needed to be at her most alert.

"His arrival seems to be a surprise to you," Lauren ventured, "I'm guessing a surprise visit from the Bratva is not a good thing."

Thomas looked at her sharply then, those frost blue eyes keener than she liked. "You would be correct," he allowed, "which is why we listen and watch. And in your case, say nothing." Rolling his eyes as Lauren's narrowed, he impatiently added, "Not because you are not an excellent conversationalist with an astonishing ability to draw out stories from the most tight-lipped men I know. Because you are, of course. But because I want no attention drawn to you. This is a man to whom I want you to be invisible."

"Kind of like Moses painting lamb's blood on the doors in Egypt to make Death pass them by?" Lauren meant it in a somewhat sarcastic aside, but the image suddenly chilled her.

"Something like that," he agreed grimly. "Listen and watch. Be my clever girl."

Lauren was humiliated to feel herself shiver a little at his words, how his tone dipped as he called her his "clever girl." God. She was such a pushover for the Voice.

 

"Просить милостыню и умолять. Ужасный ублюдок." Thomas chuckled politely along with the few others at the table who spoke Russian, an assistant leaning over to Number One and subtly translating the conversation. Mogilevich continued, hands waving expansively, spilling a bit of his excellent vodka. "Поэтому мы взяли его детей вместо этого!" 

Lauren's fingers curled into claws in her linen napkin looking down at her plate and counting her breaths. She'd always loved to learn, her mother fondly called her "my clever bookworm" since she was old enough to sneak a flashlight and a book into bed. But at this moment Lauren deeply regretted ever learning Russian. Deeply. She didn't want to hear these things. Even the French "butcher," or the Bratva captain with three kids and a penchant for melting his victims into sludge with acid, they couldn't possibly be as horrible as this man, every word he spoke was violating any sense of decency left within her. Looking over at a puzzled but pleasantly smiling Clara, Lauren gave a little shrug with one shoulder, indicating confusion but with a "Let the men tell their stories," gesture. When Number Three's fiancee nodded back, Lauren could see her jaw was trembling, like Clara was gritting her teeth. With a rising sense of concern, she realized the sweet girl was smarter than she'd thought.

As dessert was served and tiny cups of coffee consumed, Lauren allowed herself to relax. Just a little. That meant this hellish dinner party was nearly at an end, right? To her horror, the Russian stood up and spread out his arms grandly. "Я отвезу вас к моему новому бизнесу здесь, в Лондоне. Думаю, вам это очень понравится." Lavender eyes darting to her husband's pleadingly, Lauren was quite sure she would not enjoy this "new business." Not at all. Unfortunately, Thomas looked at her expressionlessly and simply nodded his head.

"Where _are_ we going?" Unfortunately, Mr and the soon to be Mrs Fassell had joined them in their car, and what Lauren was really dying to ask was severely curtailed. She watched as Thomas's sculpted jaw clenched, not a good sign. 

"We will graciously accept Mogilevich's hospitality-" Thomas paused at a chuckle quickly turned into a cough from that idiot Fassell in the backseat, then calmly continued, "-for an appropriate amount of time, then we shall leave." He was turning into a brightly lit parking lot and when Lauren caught the name on the sign her blood turned to ice. 

"He's taking us to a STRIP CLUB?" Lauren wasn't a prude, ("The last few days certainly burned, salted and scorched the earth of _that_ theory," snarked her spiteful inner voice) but the concept of having to spend an evening with an overpriced drink and her husband staring at naked women with likely much, much better bodies than hers was the last possible thing she would have expected Thomas to ever make her do.

Clara was clearly of the same mind, "Michael? I don't want to go in there." Her voice was shaky and it made Lauren twinge internally.

Number Three was all that was soothing, "Baby, I'm sorry. I know this is a little, uh, off, but we'll just have a drink and leave, all right?" There was silence in the back seat, and Michael tried again. "Where's your sense of adventure? One to check off the bucket list?"

Turning back to Thomas, Lauren was alarmed to see the tight set to his jaw didn't soften. Steeling herself, she asked, "Could you at least let me drive Clara home? We could wait at your house- I mean our hou-"

"No."

Her cold husband exited the car, moving gracefully around it to cut off the valet as he attempted to open the passenger door. Leaning in to offer his hand to Lauren, he kept it steady as she stared at it. She knew this was the Russian's idea, not Thomas's. But why would he allow something so disrespectful to her and the other wives? A low growl disguised as clearing his throat made her realize she was taking too long, and with a sigh the girl swung her legs out and attempted to rise from the low slung sports car as gracefully as possible. Sliding his arm around her waist, Thomas leaned in close. "This is a common Bratva move," he murmured so quietly that she could barely hear him over the street noise. "They like to test new business relationships under the guise of 'hospitality,' and unless this endangers you in some way, we are required to go through with it." His grip tightened around her waist, but Lauren knew it was from fury at their host, not her. "So you will be my gracious bride and handle this with some sophistication. Have you ever been to a gentleman's club before?"

Snorting at the dignified euphemism, she shook her blonde head. "No."

The first tinge of humor entered his deep voice as Thomas answered her, "I didn't think so. You've seen naked women before. Other than that, it's a standard bar. Try to be a little bored, polite, but not shocked. He would enjoy that."

Lauren tried to tell herself it was the blast of air conditioning from the front door opening that made her shudder, but she knew better. Looking back she watched an uncomfortable-looking Clara being more or less dragged along by Number Three, who was eagerly looking around. Rolling her eyes, Lauren gave her friend what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Number One and their vile host were striding a bit ahead of the others, their bodyguards surrounding them and Arabella left walking behind, forgotten. Lauren reached out to link her arm with the older woman's, and Arabella gave her a grateful smile. The VIP lounge was suitably beautiful, secluded and filled with expensive furniture and a private bar. Lauren was actually grateful for the harsh vodka shot they were all demanded to drink, and for the one after. She tried to focus only on their little group, but there was no getting around the completely naked women (except for those clear lucite heels- why those see-through shoes? Why?) hovering over the men, offering a shoulder massage or another drink. When a stacked redhead started slinking up to Thomas, she fixed her with a glare that should have turned the waitress to stone, but the redhead was made of stronger stuff. 'She probably has plenty of experience with pissed-off dates," Lauren snarled internally. However, Thomas looked up briefly as the waitress/geisha/whatever started cooing and impatiently waved her off mid-sentence. He did notice his bride smiled a bit malevolently and put her hand on his thigh. As the men drew into a deeper discussion, the Corporation spouses found themselves focusing on each other. Only Arabella looked around comfortably, long legs crossed and arms stretched across the back of the sofa, drink in hand. 

"Ah, see there?" The woman said, gesturing with her drink, "I was considering that girl's tits. Perfect!"

Unwittingly, Lauren and Clara turned to look at a voluptuous girl with lovely milk chocolate colored skin and magnificently full breasts. Gaze going to Arabella's chest, Lauren laughed. "I think you got them, 'Bella." All three began to giggle, feeling less awkward. Looking around, Lauren didn't see anything particularly shocking. She thought strippers wore those- the things for the nipples? Oh, pasties and a g-string- but she wasn't seeing anything she didn't see in the dressing room at the "Y" where she used to take yoga. It was the men at the club that made her uncomfortable, the things they were shouting, how they spoke to the girls. Taking a healthy swallow of her wine, she let herself relax a little. She could do this.

"Это твой выбор. Шлюха или жена." ( _"It's your choice. Whore or wife."_ ) Feeling like she'd just been punched in the stomach, Lauren's gaze flew back to the knot of expensively suited men. For some reason, the head of Bratva was looking at her as he said the ugly words.

'What the hell- what could that possibly mean?' she fumed internally, trying not to let her rising fury show on her face. This dickhead must not know _she_ knew what he just said. After a few more moments of discussion, Number One stood up and buttoned his jacket, nodding at one of the blondes, who came forward to take his arm and lead him away. He didn't look at his wife as he left, and Arabella pretended not to notice. Thomas rose as well, holding out his hand to Lauren with the same cold expression he'd worn that night in his office when he told her she'd be marrying him, one way or another. It was the face of a man who would order another to be shot right in front of her. Her father, in fact. So without a single word, she put her ice-cold hand in his and rose stiffly. Following him down a hallway, she didn't speak until a smirking "hostess" opened a door and Thomas abruptly ushered her into a blandly furnished room, a bit like a medium level hotel room, though instead of prints of landscapes, there was glossy framed porn. “What is-" He abruptly moved her a bit to the left and cut off her question with a harsh kiss. Pulling out his phone, he pushed a button and scanned the room. 

"Not a word," Thomas breathed into her ear, ignoring the way Lauren was beginning to shake. "This room is wired for sound, no cameras. We're in here to fuck." Anticipating her sudden attempt to get loose, he pushed his struggling bride harder against the wall. "Listen to me," he enunciated coldly, "our host insists that we accept the hospitality of the club- which means making use of a woman before we leave."

"I'm n-not a whore," Lauren gritted out, trying to be quiet and choke down the scream of rage building in her throat. 

Thomas growled slightly, "It's either you, or a club whore. Which do you prefer I fuck?"

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to run screaming from the room. She wanted to crack that fucking bottle of vodka over that bastard Mogilevich and then jam the glass shards right up his ass. But Lauren made her numb lips move. "You want to have sex with me while they... while they listen to us?" To her humiliation, there was a sob at the end of her whisper. 

Feeling his big, warm body sigh, she drew in a breath as he leaned back a bit. "We have to do this. Can you keep quiet?"

"I don't want to do this," Lauren hissed, a little childishly. 'Who the fuck has to _do_ shit like this?' she thought wildly, 'What the hell kind of fucked-up corporate retreat _was_ this?'

Thomas's voice dipped, lowering into that soothing, persuasive tone that always made her capitulate. "I know, baby. As your Sir I would not ask this of you unless I thought you were ready. But as your husband I must insist. Be a good girl, quiet and sweet and we'll get this over with." He didn't wait for her agreement, simply unzipping her dress and pushing it off of her, pausing to appreciate the lacy black bustier (thank you, Hen Party) and matching undies. Rough fingertips slipped over the skin of her thighs as he deliberately stepped on her dress, marking it as he pulled off his jacket. "Loosen my tie." His voice was louder this time, easily overhead. Brow furrowed, Lauren did as she was told and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt as Thomas pulled his belt loose and unzipped his trousers. "Take me out," he ordered, and pressing her lips tighter, his bride did, unconsciously stroking it's generous length once, twice, before realizing what she was doing and pulled her hand away like his dick was on fire. Chuckling smugly, Thomas drew his hands to her ass and squeezed, suddenly hoisting her up as Lauren gave an undignified yelp before gritting her teeth again.

Her thighs tightened harshly against his waist as her dark husband began sliding her down, beginning to impale her until Lauren stiffened and gave a tight-lipped whimper of discomfort. 'Of course,' Thomas thought, 'dry as the Sahara and no surprise.' Balancing her with his hips and one hand, he raised his other palm and spat into to it, watching her look of shock at the crude gesture and the flaming red of her cheeks as he smeared it on the head of his cock. The girl made an abortive effort to move away, but his grip tightened and he began thrusting again, slower and more gentle than usual. Thomas's angry grip on her ass spoke otherwise, but Lauren knew he was trying to not hurt her. 

"Relax," he murmured in her ear.

"I can't," Lauren gulped, "I hate this. I don't want to be here."

Those lean hips of his began moving against her, smoothly, persuasively swirling and rubbing against all those secret spots he'd found inside her. "I know," his voice was sin, deep and just barely loud enough to understand him. "Picture instead some shadowy hallway at a club, where we've been dancing. Do you remember that night on the dance floor? The first night we-"

"The 'No Diggety' night," Lauren agreed without thinking. She heard Thomas choke back a laugh and cringed.

Picking up the thread again, he purred, "We can't wait to have each other, you want me fucking up into you right then. My good girl turned naughty." He felt her bite into his shirt to stay quiet and his hips moved faster. "So I take you by the hand and we find a quiet place like this, those clever hands of yours unzipping me while I grab the back of your thighs, just like this-" Her savage little teeth were _really_ digging into the muscle of his shoulder, but Thomas let it go, smugly pleased to feel shoving into his wife was turning into a delicious glide, her sudden slick smoothing his path and letting him push into her higher. "It's quick and greedy, both of us needing the other too much. The heels on your shoes digging into my back rather uncomfortably..."

To her embarrassment, Lauren realized he was right, but it was from anxiety, not arousal. Thomas was hoisting her up and down on his cock, it was inelegant, messy and vaguely humiliating, but she was aroused enough from his filthy narrative that it didn't hurt as much as when he first entered her. Removing her teeth from his shoulder, she finally managed to whisper, "Please just... you know, just finish, okay? I can't... here. I'm sorry." Her scary husband merely kissed her and with a few more hard thrusts, came inside her, his knees buckling just slightly before pulling from her gently and pressing the pocket square from his jacket over her wet center. Lauren felt for her underwear and found they'd been torn. 'Great,' she thought bleakly, 'perfect.' Quickly tucking himself away and zipping up, Thomas bent for her dress and helped her into it. Lauren looked at it's rumpled appearance and knew it was meant to show off what they'd been doing. Extra proof, or something. She'd never thought sex with Thomas was anything other than amazing, wonderful, delicious. But now Number Two's new bride felt... disgusting.

Tidying her as well as he could, Thomas looped his tie loosely around his neck and shrugged back into his jacket. Taking her chin and raising it, he nodded. "You were very brave. My good girl. We'll leave this room with flushed cheeks, looking as if we'd just had the fuck of a lifetime and heads held high. I will take you home immediately."

Lauren could feel their combined spend trickling down her thigh and clenched her legs together. "Yeah, okay."

 

They did exactly as Thomas described, and Lauren refused to look at anyone, knowing her furiously flushed cheeks spoke for her but just focused on the exit to this shitty hellhole and the end of this vile "team building exercise." Clara and Number Three were nowhere to be found, so she assumed they were still fulfilling their host's required "hospitality," and Arabella was still on the couch, idly swishing her drink and staring at nothing. "Goodnight Arabella," Lauren managed as they passed her, and the woman looked up and smiled blankly.

"Bye, honey. Hopefully Ben doesn't make this an all-nighter, I'm getting bored."

Nodding back with an equally blank smile, Lauren let Thomas lead her to the car and away from there.

 

 

"Просить милостыню и умолять. Ужасный ублюдок." - "He begged and pleaded."

"Поэтому мы взяли его детей вместо этого!" - "So we took his children instead!"

"Я отвезу вас к моему новому бизнесу здесь, в Лондоне. Думаю, вам это очень понравится." - "I'm taking you to my newest business here in London. I think you will enjoy it very much."

 

 

 

 

 

 Diana Molloy's "Cock of Arms"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, a little grim, but living with a organized crime lord isn't all sunshine and puppies. Or floggers and pillows.


	17. "Of if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou has not loved."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas outdoes himself. As he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my very dear Archy 3001, who needs a blissful moment free of reality. I hope this gives you a pleasant interlude, my dear

**From the lovely Archy 3001**

 

Thomas was not in bed by the time Lauren woke the next morning.

Not that it surprised her. Sighing and sitting up a little gingerly, she noted the aches and pains from their rough coupling the night before making themselves known. When they'd arrived home, she'd headed straight for the shower, and her Crime Lord husband was smart enough to not offer to scrub her back. Nor was he in their bed when she came out, skin bright red from a vigorous scrubbing and her most unattractive jammies covering her like a sea of Avengers-themed flannel. She did feel Thomas slide into bed much later, putting one long arm over her waist and kissing the back of her head gently, nuzzling in her clean hair. Taking in a deep sigh, the girl was angry to feel tears well up in her eyes. 

"Well, you can just cut that shit out," she counseled herself, "no crying over spilt milk, or spilt come, or-" For some reason, this struck her as hilarious and when Thomas came in, perfectly groomed in a dark blue suit, one brow raised to see his bride giggling uncontrollably.

"Good morning," he intoned, watching her sober immediately.

"I see you're dressed for work already," Lauren said a little stiffly.

Thomas made an agreeing sort of noise and sat next to her, watching her defensive body language. "How do you feel?"

Watching her fingers twist until he put one big hand over them to still her nervous movements, Lauren cleared her throat. "About, what? Do I feel physically okay? How do I feel about our little Team Building Exercise From Hell from last night, or-"

"Our team what?" He interrupted, fighting the smile that wanted to erupt.

"You know," Lauren mumbled, "like when you do the Trust Fall or walking over hot coals or... you know, that stuff." She refused to look up at him. Part shyness, but part feeling... gross.

Somehow, he seemed to have a sense of what she was feeling. Thomas could feel himself slide into autocratic Number Two persona, but he forced himself to slow his irritation. "Tell me, darling. If I had wanted to fuck you- in a filthy, delicious way- in some dark corner in no way related to Bratva or Mogilevich, you would have enjoyed it, wouldn't you?" It was the wrong thing to say. His bride stiffened, looking up at him in hurt, humiliation and fury.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't that. We, you know, did it against the wall of some sleazy room in a strip club. And I'm pretty sure that psycho Russian was right outside with his hand down his pants while he listened. Is this my- our life?" Thomas absently noticed her tears made her lavender eyes a dark violet, always beautiful. "Do you always let business partners push you around like this? Make you do weird stuff?" Her rant stopped abruptly when she saw the cold fury in his expression.

"No. One." he gritted, "Tells me what to do."

His big hand slid up her chest, long fingers settling around her throat. Lauren drew in a deep breath just in case it was her last and continued. "You married me to please them. You go to their little dinner parties and their strip clubs and you make me feel like nothing-" humiliated that her voice broke, the girl paused for a moment, refusing to look at him, "-using me just the way he told you to. Did you leave my ripped up undies for them to find? A little souvenir to-"

"STOP!" Thomas watched her flinch, feeling vaguely disgusted with himself. The only person in his life he was relentlessly honest with, was of course himself.  He was angry at Lauren because she was absolutely correct, not because she was being disobedient or disrespectful. (Though that should be addressed later as her Sir, he reminded himself with a certain dark satisfaction.) Drawing in a deep breath, he slid his hand down from her throat and smoothed his long fingers along her shoulder blades. "I've done you a disservice darling, both as your husband and your Sir. I should have paid closer attention to Mogilevich's intentions, and kept you at home and out of harm's way." Thomas leaned closer and Lauren cursed herself for instinctively swaying into him, smelling the crisp notes of his cologne, and the warmth of his skin. "Poor baby," he soothed, "I've treated my sweet girl terribly." His lips ghosted along her jawline and his tongue dipped out to suck on her ear lobe, enjoying her helpless shiver. "I owe you something lovely for that, don't I? You don't have a rehearsal today, correct?"

Lauren cleared her throat nervously. 'Smooth bastard...' she thought, how could he pull her from her outrage in _seconds_ like this? And even more surprising, why wasn't he doing something terrible to her for talking back to him? "Uh..." she stumbled, "no?" She felt him grin against her neck feeling oddly aroused and still terrified, picturing him as that panther again, ready to sink his teeth into her throat.

"Then I am going to change," he said calmly, "and I suggest you do too." Casting a jaundiced eye over her voluminous jammies, "Something not as... squishy as these."

"Wait!" Laura called out after him, "What am I dressing for?"

Thomas turned and gave her what was unmistakably a leer. "For everything, darling," he said before disappearing into their dressing room. After tidying up in the bathroom, Lauren peeked in to look at what Thomas was wearing and dressed in something similar- a comfortable flowing sundress that matched his black jeans and pale blue shirt. She almost never saw him dressed down like this, so it was with a little bit of a thrill that she realized they looked more like just a normal newlywed couple. The thought warmed her and she eagerly took his outstretched hand.

 

"Where are we?" Lauren's eyes widened after Thomas took his hands from covering them. They were suddenly surrounded by an unspeakably lush garden with stately columns dripping with wisteria. There were fluttering butterflies and hummingbirds, the sun filtering just so through the green branches above them. She started laughing in delight. "Seriously? There's like swans over there on that pond. All these animals are straight out of Central Casting, I swear."

Thomas took a basket handed to him by an expressionless Chuck and ordered the bodyguards to trail at a discreet distance. "Hampstead Hill Garden," he answered, pulling her along the slate path, "very private, very quiet."

"Really," agreed Lauren, "it feels like we're the only people in here, not a lot of tourists stop by, I'm guessing."

Thomas merely gave her his most arousing half smile and continued on the path. No need to tell his bride that he'd arranged to close the gardens for the afternoon, for everyone but them. Rounding a corner, they were greeted by a stunning pergola, exquisitely hued peacocks strutting back and forth. He started laughing at Lauren's eye roll. "Yes, darling. The peacocks did cost extra." Dashingly pulling out a chilled bottle of champagne and two flutes, he opened the bottle with an impressive "pop!' of the cork and poured them both a glass with the experience of a sommelier.

"Is there anything you don't know how to do perfectly?" Lauren accepted a glass and shook her head in amazement.

"Apparently, being a husband," Thomas answered with an honesty that shocked them both. With a devilish gleam, he leaned in. "But I do intend to improve my performance." Tapping his glass to hers, he murmured, "To a perfect day."

A little dazed, Lauren nodded, "A perfect day."

 

"Really," the girl persisted, her head on Thomas's lap, enjoying the surprising warmth of the autumn sun on her face, "I don't think I've seen one person since we arrived, have you? It's like 'The Secret Garden.'"

"The children's book?" Thomas said lazily, "I never read it."

"Mmmm," Lauren wiggled a little on his hard thighs, getting comfortable, "Frances Burnett wrote the story of a lonely little girl who was sent to live in her uncle's big, scary fancy house near London. No friends or family, no one to talk to." 

Thomas shifted uneasily, some of the parallels not lost on him, even if she was unaware.

"So, Mary- the little girl- finds the key to a secret garden, no one's been in there for years and it's wildly overgrown. So she begins to clear it and make the garden bloom again. She discovers she has a cousin- Colin- who's been shut away in the scary mansion and more or less ignored by everyone because of his illness, no one even caring that he was in pain!" Her lips firmed angrily, and her husband hid a smile. So empathetic, this girl. "So Mary brings him into the garden, and as they restore the trees and the flowers, the garden heals them both... it was my favorite book as a child," she confessed, "I must've read it 100 times." She felt his rough fingertips brush back and forth across her forehead, very gently. Looking up at him, she grinned. "So sentimental, huh? Unrealistic?"

He forced a smile, "I'm sure it's an... uplifting message for children."

Lauren started laughing, daringly rising to straddle him, hands on his shoulders. "And what did Thomas Pine the... uh... what are you, like the fifth? Thomas Pine the-"

"First." Thomas answered firmly. She drew her hands away nervously at his tone, but he caught them, kissing the soft skin of one and then the other. "Thomas Pine the first, a new bloodline from an old one."

She nodded, treading carefully on this unstable new ground. "And what did young Thomas read? Edgar Allen Poe? Maybe a little George Orwell? Who was the guy who wrote 'Lord of the Flies,' maybe-"

"Shakespeare."

Lauren's mouth dropped open. "Ooooo... Will you please recite something for me? Maybe from 'Much Ado about Nothing,' or- or 'As You Like It?'" Watching his cobalt eyes cool a bit, she backtracked, "I mean, don't worry about it, I just-" With an alarmed squeal, she suddenly found herself on her back on the cushioned seating staring up at the dark beauty of her husband.

Running one long finger over his lips, Thomas pondered her flushed face. 

_“Wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty like a Scotch jig--and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.”_

Though it was certainly one of the most cynical passages from 'Much Ado," delivered in Thomas's spine-meltingly beautiful voice, the rich elocution of his accent... Lauren could feel an uncomfortable warmth developing south, a certain weakness of the knees that made her question if she could stand up again. He smiled suddenly, subtle lines spreading from those penetrating eyes.

 _“I have marked_  
_A thousand blushing apparitions_  
_To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames_  
_In angel whiteness beat away those blushes;_  
_And in her eye there hath appeared a fire,_  
_To burn the errors that these Princes hold_  
_Against her Maiden truth.”_

"Ooooo... that's..." Lauren was trying to form a full sentence, but the feeling of his mouth on her neck and sliding downwards made putting thought together more than she was capable of.

 _“Oh, thou did'st then ne'er love so heartily._  
_If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly_  
_That ever love did make thee run inot,_  
_Thou has not loved._  
_Of if thou has't not sat as I do now,_  
_Wearying they hearer in thy mistress's praise,_  
_Thou has not loved._  
_Of if thou hast not broke from company_  
_Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,_  
_Thou has not loved."_

Her fingers slid through his thick hair, his mouth currently traveling from one breast to the other, the backless sundress having been an excellent choice, since she couldn't wear a bra with it. When his teeth delicately bit one nipple as his tongue teased it's tip, Lauren moaned. Yes, this was her favorite dress. Ever.

"Beautiful," she finally gasped, "you're so beautiful. This is perfect. So perfect." When he slid lower and his warm hands spread her thighs, Lauren tried to force her brain cells back together. "T-Thomas? We shouldn't-"

"No one will see us, darling," his dark head rose and he gave her a diabolical smile, "do you want your Sir to wipe away those ugly memories from last night?" He was very gently nibbling on the thin skin of her inner thigh, and Lauren's toes twitched, feeling her nerve endings spike under his teeth. The vibration of his chuckle against her center made her back arch. "Here we are, in the most perfect spot in England, and I have _never_ wanted you more, little girl." He was actually _growling_ now, and Lauren's hands flew to her hair, almost yanking the blonde curls out by the roots to keep from screaming in arousal. "So your Sir will let you ponder your reply as I put my tongue in your sweet, juicy cunt." She felt his damned teeth again, grinning as he was scant millimeters from her heated girl parts and his deliciously filthy words sent an embarrassing little gush of slick along her lips, making them glisten. 

"Oh! Oh, my god- please-" Lauren wasn't sure what she was trying to ask for, but when her wicked husband's heated mouth fastened greedily on to her, the words died in her throat as she tried to gasp for air instead. She could feel the burn of his stubble- the man's face was smooth until maybe lunchtime after shaving every morning, and Thomas always returned home in the evening with a perfect layer of stubble that managed to turn his face from pretty to rugged. It was prickling along her thighs now, itching along her swollen lips, and Lauren actually had to slam her hands over her mouth to stifle her scream when his whiskered chin dug into the soft opening of her channel. His mouth sliced up and down the slim furrows of her swollen lips before Thomas's lips fastened over her stiff clitoris and bit down, very, very carefully as his tongue lashed the little bundle back and forth and he growled again- louder this time as Lauren came, still trying to strangle the cries back into her mouth. 

Panting and trying to remember where she was, the girl's eyes opened dazedly, focusing on the purple wisteria above her on the gracefully arched stone columns. "I can't..." clumsily, Lauren cleared her throat and tried again, "I can't decide whether you're the God of Sex or the Devil." 

Thomas, who was busy folding her skirt neatly up her thighs and over her stomach, chuckled deliberately against her still-convulsing center, his tongue tasting a little orgasm ripple through her again at the feel of him. "More likely the latter than the former, my precious girl. But your Sir is so pleased. Such a delicious little thing you are..." Waiting until she could focus on him, stroking along her spread legs and gently kissing her clit, he hummed idly, making her shudder into another trembling finish. "Tell your Sir. Are you ready to be my good girl?"

"Wh- um, what do you want me to do?" Lauren managed, trying to force her lips to work in tandem. "How can I... you know..." Forcing herself to focus, she burst out, "How do you want me to be your good girl, Sir?" She felt his fingers tighten on the soft skin of her hips before loosening his grip. Rising above her and blocking out the sun, her beautiful Sir looked her over, enjoying her flushed face and her pretty breasts, nudged loose from her dress by his tongue and his sweet girl so aroused she'd not yet noticed her bare chest.

"Ask your Sir to fuck you," Thomas spoke calmly, deliberately, even though the filthy words still made her eyes dilate in shock. "Be my sweet, good girl and ask me nicely to put my cock inside this lovely, juicy pussy."

Lauren was always alternately horrified when her well-bred, patrician spouse spoke such filthy things, yet aroused by his deep, resonant voice. There was something so startlingly dirty about hearing this haughty, superior man talk about all the impure activities he wanted to enjoy with her body. "I..." it was another turning point, just like the night she knelt on that pillow- and if she asked for what he demanded from her, she couldn't pretend he forced her, compelled her like last night. She would be asking Thomas to fuck her. In the middle of these fancy public gardens like a-

"I can hear you thinking." He bit her earlobe sharply and Lauren stiffened with another smothered squeal. Thomas was at his sweetest, most persuasive. "Give yourself to your Sir, I'll take care of your. No one will see or hear us, even if part of you is just..." One long finger slid inside her, enjoying how she tightened against him. "Is just a bit disappointed..." another finger thrust inside, another moan, "...that no one will witness you being such a dirty little girl." He enjoyed the heave of Lauren's breasts when his fingers started sliding through her, widening and stretching her, playing with her slick, wet walls and rubbing persuasively along all those secret, hidden parts of her that had never been touched before him. "No one to hear you moan and whimper, to beg me to shove my cock inside you harder. Would you like that? Do you want me inside you?" He could tell she was ready to cry with frustration and arousal, and diabolically sealed the deal by running his thumb along her clit, idly batting it back and forth.

"Yes!" Lauren groaned, "Yes, please Sir. I would really like it if... you could."

Thomas stretched his long body to whisper in her ear. "Tell your Sir what you want, baby. You must ask for it."

Her wide eyes found his then, and he gritted his teeth against a groan as Lauren, unbidden, pulled his uncomfortably hard cock from his jeans and stroked it, root to tip, just as he had taught her and just as she'd done, unconsciously, the night before, no matter how vile the situation. "Could you please put your beautiful cock inside me, Sir?" she whispered, and it was a miracle, he thought dimly, that he didn't come right then. Where had all his hard-fought self-control _gone?_ Nonetheless, Thomas gently eased her legs apart as far as they could go and began inching into her, enjoying the huge difference from the night before, her wet, warm pussy welcoming him in, fluttering walls tightening against the cock forcing them wider. God, he groaned internally, nothing felt better than pushing through his sweet Lauren, making her body fit him inside her. So the cold, cruel Number Two took his time, enjoying the slow stretch of Lauren's body, murmuring disjointed snatches of Shakespeare into her ear, kissing and biting her slim throat and enjoying all her little moans and sighs, the whispers of "Yes," and "please," and "more please, like that, Sir." Words he knew she wasn't aware she was saying, but ones that cemented them together as tightly as his cock inside her. Finally to the top of his sweet girl, Thomas began moving, those hips dipping and swirling, making sure he pressed against all the little spots, the nerve endings and sensitive bits of his wife's body that he'd mapped out in these last few weeks. Making sure each ugly moment from the night before was erased and replaced with something more, something powerful that made this girl cry and arch her back and clutch him against her. Forcing himself to concentrate, Thomas kissed her open, panting mouth. "Do you hear me, baby?"

"Uh... huh?" Lauren tried to answer coherently, humiliated that the best she could offer was sort of a monosyllabic grunt.

Thomas was moving faster now, his cock hitting harder, not quite hurting but definitely not comfortable, and definitely something Lauren would murder him for if he tried to stop. He looped one knee over each elbow and ruthlessly opened her wider. "No hiding now, babygirl. When your Sir counts to three, you will come with me. Harder than you've ever come before. Do you understand?"

Well... yeah. Of course she understood, Lauren thought, already half out of her mind with need. As if he could just force her to come by snapping his fingers, and...

"One... Two... Three."

And of course, just as Lauren doubted was possible and her diabolical Sir was certain, she instantly came with him, clenching her thighs painfully against his narrow waist and barely feeling the bite he put on her neck as Thomas flooded her inside, stinging and searing her with his come and making her moan and whine and beg him to never stop. And after, her favorite even more than coming together, where he praised her for being his good, good girl and caring for her tenderly as he re-dressed her and carried her to the car, her face buried in his neck and not even seeing Chuck and Aimes carefully looking in the other direction.

 

From the mind of Diana Molloy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a thing with picnics recently in my stories... dunno why. But "The Secret Garden" was my favorite childhood book, and when I told my husband about it when we first married, he immediately created one for me in our backyard. And in every house we've moved into since, he makes me another one, filled with little things from our travels...an ancient sea glass globe used by fishermen, carved wooden fish... an old bench. I feel very lucky.


	18. There's So Much More At Stake Than Just You, Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren discovers sex with Thomas is totally worth walking with a limp. Also, that she might have a backbone. Which comes as a surprise to both her and someone extremely unpleasant.

 

**The "Glorious Cock Crest" from the fertile mind of Archy3001**

 

If Lauren had been a cartoon character, little heart emojis would have been following her for the next week. Thomas could not have been more charming, and even though the girl felt like she was walking bowlegged after days of glorious sex, it was worth the awkward gait to take pressure off her sore girl parts. Not that she limped in front of Thomas, of course. She had some dignity after all. So she didn't catch her spouse watching her hobble to the bathroom one morning after a particularly acrobatic night, a fond smile on his face and a vague sense of irritation that his dick was getting hard again, just watching the effect his more prized possession had had on his wife. But Lauren had been so very, very good. So flexible. And willing. With a growl, he pulled off his running gear and followed his darling into the shower.

But as it inevitably does, Real Life and Organized Crime made their unwelcome appearance.

 

Lauren was just carefully putting her cello in it's indestructible case as Macie walked over, not actually looking in her old friend's direction but sort of angling by her.

"Hey."

Looking up, startled, Lauren froze to see Macie gazing just over her head. "Hi, Macie," she said cautiously, "your section sounded amazing on the 'Brandenburg Concerto No. 2,' are you all meeting up separately from the regular practice?"

"We've practicing in the quartet," the girl said a little sharply, but when her gaze briefly met Lauren's there was hurt in her brown eyes.

Lauren nodded, looking down. "Oh. Well... it sounded good." If she'd been looking up, she would have seen Macie's mouth open again, a hopeful expression that was instantly silenced by the cool voice of Chuck behind her.

"Miss Lauren, Mr. Pine has asked you to ring him, please."

Macie snorted. "Your master calls..." and walked away.

Biting the corner of her lip to keep from snapping at her former best friend, Lauren could taste the coppery feel of blood in her mouth. Biting her lip- literally- was becoming more and more of a habit. Then she raised her phone to her ear and the cool, sonorous voice of her husband soothed her instantly.

"Darling."

Gritting her teeth against a giggle, Lauren managed some dignity. "Hi, Thomas, Chuck said you needed me?" She groaned internally at his unfairly carnal chuckle. 

"Well, yes little one, I always seem to need you these days..." he paused for a moment and she was humiliated to hear a faint whimper escape her clenched jaw. Thomas heard it, of course. "Oh, sweet girl, are you needing your Sir as well?"

"Please," Lauren groaned, "you know I can't keep a straight face when you talk to me like that. Everyone in this orchestra already thinks I'm a little nuts!"

He chuckled again, the low rumble feeling like it was vibrating straight up her spine. "Well then why don't you come by the office, and I shall, ah, talk to you like this in person."

"What- really?" The girl was genuinely startled. She'd never been by the tall, ominous granite office building that housed Jaguar Holdings in downtown London since her second, disastrous meeting and her father's messy gunshot wound. Thomas had never suggested her visiting him there again. "Um, sure. What are we doing?"

Daaamn, that Voice... "What do you mean, my lovely bride?" She could picture him, sitting at some big, expensive desk and looking out an improbably huge window as he purred into the phone.

"I mean," Lauren groaned, trying to regain her composure, "are you taking me to a business dinner? Some reception at the office? Is this business or pleasure?" She could hear Thomas's sudden need in his tone, greedy, possessive.

"Both. Be here as quickly as you can, little girl." There was a small whimper on her end of the line as he said goodbye. With an unholy grin, Thomas looked out his window, absently rubbing the swelling front of his trousers. That this sweet little girl could get him hard at the most inopportune of times... Which was reinforced when, with a brief tap on his door, Ben walked in.

"Thomas, we'll need to be ready for-" looking up, Number One's brow creased, "what are you grinning at?"

His Number Two irritably cleared his throat. "Nothing at all, Ben. Tell me your concerns over the Paris agreement." Despite his best efforts to pay attention, his thoughts drifted back to the blushing blonde that would soon be walking through his door.

 

Despite her internal pep talk to remain cool and calm, Lauren was nervously wiping her sweaty palms on the pleated skirt of her kilt when Chuck pulled into the underground parking of her husband's office building. She looked a little young- her family tartan, expensive black riding boots and a lavender silk sweater- but she tilted her chin and put her game face on. She couldn't embarrass Thomas. Not here. Riding up the lift, she and Chuck kept their gaze on the rising numbers on the display. "Mr. Pine has asked me to make you comfortable in his office," he volunteered suddenly, "Mr. Kingsley called him into a last-minute meeting, but he assured me he would not keep you waiting long and sends his apologies." Lauren eyed the big man and chewed on the corner of her mouth again. Thomas could have texted her... she was holding her fancy new iPhone quite literally in her hand at the moment. But if the insectile Number One was involved, there was probably a good reason for it. But she wouldn't have to see that freak, he was in the meeting with Thomas and she'd just hang out in his office until...

Unfortunately, luck was not on their side.

"Lauren!" The girl cringed a little to hear the booming voice of Michael behind her. The loud third in command at the Corporation seemed too happy to see her. "What are you doing here, love? An early dinner with Pine? Lucky bastard." He smiled, but it didn't reach his oddly tinged grey-blue eyes.

Looking around her, she could see the top floor- of course- of the huge building housed only three offices and a gigantic board room. Lauren suspected Thomas's office was the one in the northeast corner- their bedroom at home faced in that direction and she knew he loved the view- he'd mentioned once how beautiful the light was at dawn and dusk. "Hey, Michael- I'm just here to see Thomas. Is Clara here, too? Do we have a business thing, tonight?" She was trying to avoid his speculative gaze, suddenly remembering his fiancee's anxious request to go home that night at the strip club.

Putting his hands in the pockets of his expensive suit, Number Three eyed her more closely. "No. Thomas must have... special plans for you."

Lauren's brows drew together. Thomas's partner had never spoken to her like this before, that sort of hateful, knowing way and eyeing her like... a thing. He'd always been perfectly polite with Clara by his side. She pasted together a false smile. "Well, Thomas is really romantic. Lucky me," she barely kept on the non-sarcastic side of a simper and eyed the smirking Fassel. "Like how I'm sure you are with Clara, right? Such a perfect girl, you're so lucky, huh, Michael?" His sudden frown raised her flagging self-confidence and she smiled, batting her eyelashes. "With a crazy schedule like you all have here, it takes the right woman to have the... understanding to put up with all of that, right?" Fassel was no longer smiling, instead looking her over with a set, angry mouth. 

"Why, it's Thomas's sweet little bride. What a pleasure to see you, dear." Lauren's eyes closed, wondering which god she'd managed to offend to encounter both the murderous One and Three in Thomas's organization without the protection of her terrifying spouse.

Chuck, bless his heart, was apparently feeling both protective and suicidal that day, because he spoke before she could. "I've been instructed by Mr. Pine to take Mrs. Pine _directly_ to his office to wait-"

Kingsley cut him off. "No need. We'll be happy to entertain the lovely bride while she waits for Thomas, won't we, Michael?" Lauren narrowed her eyes at his black gaze, not sophisticated enough to hide her dislike and instinctive disgust of this man. She just barely managed to avoid yanking her arm away when he took a grip on her elbow. "Come into my office, dear," he said with barely controlled malice, "we're quite happy to keep you entertained while Number Two finishes his meeting." 

"I was told to-" Chuck made a valiant effort to stop them, but Lauren cut him off. She knew the vile husband of Arabella would be all too happy to do something to her bodyguard if he put up too much of a fuss.

"No worries," she interrupted, "why don't you just text Thomas and let him know where you and I are while he finishes up, okay?" She could feel the disapproval radiating off Straker's stolid frame, but she'd rather have him mad at her than... dead? Would they kill her Chuck for disagreeing with Kingsley? The feeling of helplessness and anxiety that nearly crushed her that day at the coffee house with Thomas's society neighbor hit hard again, and Lauren took a deep breath. She couldn't embarrass Thomas, and she had to keep Chuck safe. The irony of keeping her bodyguard alive was lost on her as Number One escorted her into his office and tried to shut the door. Lauren dug in her heels. Number One looked down at her, irritated. "I'm not allowed to go anywhere without Chuck. Thomas is very specific about that."

Kingsley lost his patience. "Who is Chuck?"

Lauren had a wild urge to giggle, knowing her bodyguard was dreaming of murdering her at that moment. Pointing at the large, angry man, she clarified, "Mr. Straker. Chuck."

Michael looked surprised. "Your name is Chuck?" He looked at Straker who definitely wore the expression of a man who wanted to murder someone.

Chuck cleared his throat. "No."

 

Once- more or less shoved into sitting on a leather couch in Number One's office- Lauren tried not to gag on the reek of expensive cologne, fine scotch and Smug. "Would you like a drink, dear?" Kingsley offered with false solicitude, "I fear I don't have any wine here." He held up one of the bottles of amber liquid, and her stomach twisted. Who knows what this psycho doctored these drinks with. Did he have a special "murder bottle?" Scotch meant to make you bleed from every pore? So paranoid. She was beginning to think like Thomas did.

Unaccountably pleased by that realization, Lauren reached out and took the glass away from Number Three, who was just returning to the couch. They wouldn't have poisoned his drink, anyway. "Thanks, Michael. This looks great. I love bourbon."

Number One snarled, "That's a 12 year old Royal Lochnagar, young lady."

"Even better," she lied, having no idea what he was talking about. The first gulp surprised her. Lauren hated hard liquor, the sense that she was really just drinking flavored rubbing alcohol was a taste that never left her, but this was... pretty tasty. Taking another big swallow, she sighed happily, balancing the glass on her crossed knee and smiling brightly at her husband's murderous partners. "Thanks, this is pretty good."

Kingsley looked like she'd just spat into the bottle, but he rallied and smiled down on her in an avuncular fashion. "How are you enjoying married life to our Thomas, dear?"

She fluttered her eyelashes elaborately. "It's even better than I imagined." This was technically true, since Lauren had grimly expected to crack at some point and provoke her chilly husband into murdering her. This expectation had faded over the last few weeks, but... 

"I'm surprised we didn't hear more about you before the wedding," he continued, still staring at her with his creepy black gaze. "You were quite the surprise."

Lauren had swigged down the last of her drink and handed the empty glass to Chuck, smiling at him meaningfully. With a barely concealed sigh, he went to the bar to make her another one. This part, she had down. Thomas had brusquely told her in the very beginning what to say when questioned about their sudden engagement. "Well, we met that night at the LSO scholarship fundraiser. Thomas isn't a man to hesitate when he knows what he wants," she smiled blandly, "and what girl could resist him? I'm so lucky." 

As Chuck bent down to hand her the new drink, Lauren was certain she heard him snort derisively.

But Number One wasn't finished. "That's very sweet, dear. Really. But far more important than your infatuation with your shiny new wedding ring is your understanding of what is required of you as a Corporation wife. You're young. Youngsters can be reckless." He was leaning forward now, shifting the expensive crystal glass in his hands looking like he wanted to crush it while picturing her head instead. "We don't tolerate recklessness here."

The moment seemed to slow down, Kingsley's voice almost going into a cartoonish slow-motion slur as Lauren stared at him. She sort of expected to be wetting herself right now in sheer terror and was mildly impressed that she wasn't. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Chuck's hand inch towards his shoulder holster under his jacket. Taking another deep breath, Lauren drank half her glass in one gulp, enjoying the involuntary flinch on Number One's face for abusing his expensive scotch. "Since Thomas has never um... punished me for acting badly during any Corporation event, I think that means I'm behaving properly. I'm quite aware..." she stilled herself, trying to stop the hiss that wanted to spurt out with her words, "quite aware of what's at stake. And your uh... kind attempt to warn me could not possibly make me more aware of this than my husband has already managed to do."

Number Three, at least seemed convinced, laughing loudly, he got up to get another drink. "Well done, love! Quite a backbone, who knew?"

The head of Jaguar Holdings unfortunately, was not willing to let the moment pass. "How fortunate," he sneered. "Because there's so much more at stake than just you, or even your father, isn't there, dear?"

In that moment, Lauren understood exactly why Thomas pushed her to move away from any close connections in the orchestra, here in London. Anywhere, really. She wanted to scream. She wanted to claw at Kingsley's face. But instead she shakily took another drink of his insanely expensive scotch and forced herself to smile. "I'm sure you can express your concerns to my husband, _Ben,_ " spitefully popping the "B," she forced herself to not look away from his cruel, nasty face. "I listen to every single thing he says. He's so good at this..." Lauren floundered, wondering what anyone would call "this," her current, bizarre universe. "This.” She finished the thought and her drink at the same time.

 

"Ah. There you are, darling." 

Lauren had never been so happy to hear the cool, resonant tone of her husband, currently speaking in her ear, hovering just over her right shoulder. "Hi, honey," she batted her eyelashes again, looking up, "we've just been waiting for you to finish up. How was your meeting?"

Thomas chuckled insincerely, she was a little surprised that she could tell, that she could "read" her mysterious spouse. "Just fine, darling. Gentlemen-" he fixed a steely gaze at his partners, "thank you for taking such good care of my wife." The threat behind his tone was clear. With shaky legs, Lauren rose with help from his offered hand and quickly escorted from the office.

After thanking Chuck in low tones, Thomas sent him away, pulling her into his office- 'Yep, the northeast one,' Lauren thought vaguely, watching as he shut and locked the door.

"Are you all right?" He was in front of her again, running his long fingers over her face, tilting up her chin so he could force the girl to look at him.

Lauren made her lips shape into a smile. "Of course. Believe it or not, I've has creepier conversations than that one. Not by much, but..."

Effortlessly hitching his trousers, her husband knelt in front of her. "What did he say?" 

"Number One?" Lauren asked, gazing longingly at his bar set across the room. 'Did every big executive have a full bar these days?' she thought vaguely, 'Is that the new symbol of a crime boss, instead of like, a live tiger or an alligator?' Looking back at Thomas, she watched him sigh and rise to pour her a glass of wine from a bottle in his small fridge. Noting that it was her favorite Riesling, she felt unaccountably warmed that he'd noticed, taking a grateful sip. "He uh, was warning me, I guess." She chuckled suddenly, "Like he could scare me worse than you di- Um..." rapidly changing course at her husband's chilly expression, she amended, "like, telling me to keep my mouth shut, don't be reckless, the usual." Suddenly, her jaw clenched and Lauren felt unaccountably furious. "He told me that there was more at stake than just me and Frank." Looking up, she nearly quailed at the expression of ice-cold fury on Thomas's beautiful face, but for the first time she realized it was _for_ her, not _at_ her.

"I am sorry, darling," her husband sounded remarkably sincere, "I should have been there to meet you." Noticing her glass was already empty, Thomas raised a dark brow but rose and poured her another one. "And Michael?" he asked, handing her the new drink.

Lauren was feeling much, much better after the application of two tumblers of scotch and now moving on to her second glass of Riesling. "He was a dick," she answered bluntly, "totally like a frat boy drunk and hanging out with his buddies. He's a different guy with Clara, huh?"

Thomas shifted to sit beside her, pulling his wife on to his lap and feeling the alien notion of... not guilt, certainly, but a certain... discomfort that Michael was luring the sweet Clara into this world with no understanding of what she was getting into. "Hmmm..." he mused, turning his attention back Lauren, who really did look rather fetching in this sweet schoolgirlish outfit. "I'm sure you will be a great help to her, darling." Lifting her lightly and turning the girl to face him, straddling his lap, he gave her his most delicious, carnal smile. "I fear this ugly encounter has ruined my plans for this evening."

After four drinks on a relatively empty stomach, Lauren was feeling pleasantly buzzed and a little daring. Leaning into his neck, she breathed in the scent of this beautiful man, the feel of his arms surrounding her, hands stroking up her tights-clad thighs. “What did you have in mind, Sir?” She felt his hands briefly still at the use of his title, then squeeze and smooth along her legs again.

"Oh, my good girl..." Thomas purred, "I'd thought of perching you on my desk..." he bent to kiss along her throat, moving her hair out of the way. "Then... putting your heels pressed to the edge, spreading your knees..." he felt her gulp, no doubt trying to hold back the whimper trying to escape her. God, he loved those little noises from her. "Then, tearing a hole in those tights, pulling your knickers aside and sucking your clit into my mouth." This time, the groan escaped her before Lauren could choke it back, and she felt his chest jolt as he chuckled into her neck. "After putting two fingers inside you and sucking and fucking you into an orgasm with my mouth and hand, I would do it again with my cock." He pulled her into his body tightly, putting one hand on the bottom of her spine to push his sweet wife's center rather harshly into his already swollen crotch. After feeling her hips move against him a bit, Thomas cruelly moved back, sighing ostentatiously. "But, of course darling, if that unpleasant encounter has put you out of the mood..."

Lauren hated him when he was like this, her beautiful, manipulative Sir. He knew damn good and well that anything short of a grenade launching right down her cleavage couldn't put her out of the mood when he talked to her like this, rubbing that lovely, thick cock of his against her. Damn him. Clearing her throat, she managed, "Well we haven't tried 'throwing everything off your expensive fancy desk and putting me on top of it' sex yet, so... um..," Damnit! He was pulling down the v-neck of her sweater and teasing her nipples through the lace on her bra! 

Thomas looked up at her, his eyes clear and honest as he laughed. "So, just in the interests of a thorough examination of all the sexual basics?"

Her heart twisted painfully. Lauren couldn't remember a moment when her husband had looked at her, so unguarded and delighted. “Precisely, Professor Pine.”

The bit of humor evaporated from his face and she suddenly found herself flat on her back on the polished expanse of his desk and legs yanked up and into the position he'd described.

"OH!" With a rip, there went her tights and undies, too. Vaguely wondering how many pairs of panties her Sir had ruined over the last few weeks, Lauren squealed as Thomas's dark head moved straight for her center.

 

They were driving home- much later- in the dark when Lauren suddenly remembered something he'd said that day in the pergola in Kensington Gardens. Before he nearly made her pass out from coming so hard. "Thomas?"

"Hmmm?" His profile was beautiful as always, lit by the Jaguar's dashboard as he focused on the road. 

"Remember when you said that you should have kept me home that night when we had to... uh... do it at Mogilevich's strip club?" Lauren watched him nod slowly, a frown creasing his forehead. "But you said that night you had to have sex with someone for his creepy brand of hospitality?" She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "So... if I wasn't there, would you have had done it with one of the club girls?"

Thomas slowed the car as the light ahead of them turned red, then looked at her. "No..." he answered slowly, "I would have made my excuses and left."

"Even if it offended him and threatened your deal with the Brat-" she remembered the night he'd terrified her for saying the word out loud. Lauren realized she'd not spoken it since. "With the Bratva?"

Looking back to the road as the light turned green, Thomas answered shortly, "I would have found a way to smooth over the insult."

"Oh..." her voice was smaller this time, but Lauren persisted. "Thomas?"

He sighed heavily. "Yes?"

"When you came home that night from your business meeting and stinking of perfume, did you sleep... Did you sleep with one of the girls at the- uh, do you call it a brothel or is that old-fashioned?" Lauren cringed to see him bite back a grin.

"The Corporation brothel. No."

She leaned in, trying to get a look at his face, "No, you didn't, or no, it's not old-fashioned to call it a brothel, or-"

"No," Thomas said firmly, softly covering her hands with his big, warm one. "I didn't sleep with anyone. I haven't. Since we married."

"That's good," Lauren said, a little dazed and kind of hating the spark of hope in her chest. Gathering her thoughts, she offered, "I haven't, either." She didn't have to look at her husband's self-satisfied face to know he was trying not to chuckle. 

"That's good, too," he finally offered, squeezing her hand as he turned onto their street.

 

____________________________________________________________

 

"So, what do you think?" Michael was a bit distracted, trying to picture exactly what Pine was doing to that tasty little bitch in his office.

Kingsley frowned, the unpleasant set to his jaw making him look even more frightening. "I don't like her."

Number Three shrugged, "You don't like anyone. Anything specific?"

The most terrifying man he knew turned to look at Michael fully. "She's too confident that Thomas can save her," he spat. "If she makes a mistake, there is no one on this planet who can save her from me."

 

 

 


	19. The Ladies Who Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren is forced to face the most terrifying predators at the Corporation. Also, drunken revelations and phone sex.

****

 

**This beautiful artwork is from the brilliant hands of[TheLeftHand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLeftHand/pseuds/TheLeftHand)\- thank you for such a wonderful gift! There can't be anything more personal and kind than creating art.**

"Darling, you're just planning a fundraiser, not mucking out a hog trough."

Lauren's mouth was set in a small, mutinous frown, and she barely kept from rolling her eyes at her husband's amused, indulgent tone. She _hated_ his amused, indulgent tone, especially when it was directed at her. But since she hated a spanking more, the rolling the eyes thing was off the table. "I know," she mumbled, "I just..." she thought about it. What was worse? Planning it with the confusing Arabella or doing it poorly and making Thomas look bad? She was now quite acutely aware of how important Number Two's image was within the Corporation- the right blend of respect and utter terror of the man- and it was crucial she did nothing to alter that. "I don't want to... Ugh!" she leaned down to pull on her riding boots, and when she straightened up, Thomas was standing in front of her, close enough to feel the heat radiate off his freshly shaved face.

"What?" Looking down at his wife's lovely face, Thomas enjoyed how her lashes would flutter when he spoke in his sweetest, most compelling voice. And he did so love compelling Lauren. "What don't you want to do?"

"Idon'twanttoscrewthisupand... make you look bad," it came out in a rush, and Lauren cringed a little. She sounded like a six year old.

Thomas laughed, putting those long arms around her and squeezing her lightly. "You told me you would help your mother when she did these sort of things, and you handled a fundraiser or two at Julliard, correct?"

"Yes," she agreed, "but-"

Raising her chin for a kiss, Thomas rose one haughty brow, "Then I am certain you will do a spectacular job. Some new ideas are needed, these recent events have been a bit stale. You'll breathe some new life and new ideas into the Corporation's charity division." 

Thinking of the bizarre irony of a ruthless organized crime syndicate having a charity division, Lauren forced a smile and nodded. She didn't realize something until after her dark and beautiful husband had left for work: "I never told him about those fundraisers in college," she said out loud to the quiet house, "how did he...?" Her heart settled back in the pit of her stomach, wondering if there was any detail Thomas hadn't stripped ruthlessly from her past. 

So her mood was still glum when she arrived at the restaurant where the other Ladies Who Lunch (as she secretly called the other Corporation spouses) were beginning to plan the next fundraiser designed to make Jaguar Holdings look like a beneficent and generous company and not the horrifying entity of fear and death it actually was. 'You're being dramatic,' Lauren lectured herself, 'paste on that fake smile that got you through all of Dad's shitty dinners.' Chuck opened her door and stood back respectfully, waiting. After a couple of minutes, he cleared his throat. Still, no Lauren emerged from the darkened interior of the car.

"Miss Lauren?"

She jumped a little, not quite noticing that her bodyguard had opened her door some time ago. "I'm sorry, Chuck- I was... uh. I was thinking."

With a sigh that teetered on the side of aggrieved, Chuck slid in next to her in the back seat and shut the door. "Aimes," he looked at his generously armed co-worker. "Go out and hold the perimeter." Once the other man was outside, he turned to Lauren. "What's the problem?" Chuck's tone was more brusque than usual, but she didn't take offense.

Lauren rested her head on the padded leather of her head-rest. "I'm a little freaked out. I don't know any of these women, aside from Arabella and Clara. I’m supposed to be scary Number Two’s... I dunno, scary bride. I met some of these women at the wedding. They give me the creeps.”

Chuck pursed his lips. “I recall you trying to kick me while I held your father at gunpoint. You did not seem unduly intimidated.” Watching her roll her eyes, he folded his hands and continued, calm and urbane. “Or the occasion you steered Mr Pine’s Jaguar at a considerable rate of speed while he was shooting out the back window?”

Snorting in a way that she knew would get a reprimand from her stern spouse, Lauren asked, “Is this your British understatement teaching me a life lesson about keeping a cool head with the Ladies Who Lunch if I can do it while being shot at?”

Straightening his cuff, Chuck shook his head. “No. It wasn’t required. You just managed that for yourself.” Leaving the car to hold the door for her, the man’s expression didn’t twitch as Lauren shook her head.

”You’d make an astounding life coach. If life coaches carried firearms and ran crazed Texan drug dealers off the road.” 

 

“And here she is, the new Mrs. Thomas Pine!” 

Lauren cringed to hear the overly loud voice of Arabella, which meant the woman was already a couple of cocktails ahead of everyone, which of course the girl could relate to- if Thomas hadn't been in the house right to the point she had to leave, too, she would have picked out another bottle from his excellent wine cellar tp take the edge off her anxiety. Several well-coiffed heads turned to look, a few women she remembered from her dreadful wedding and to her amusement, a few men as well. Every spouse of upper-level management at Jaguar Holdings was expected to serve on one board or another. Two of the men were partners to males on Thomas's team, a couple of others were husbands to high-ranking women in the Corporation, including the head of Pacific Acquisitions, a red-headed woman so terrifying that even Thomas, formidable as he was, rarely found it "necessary" to speak to her. Forcing a smile, she nodded to everyone and slipped into her chair with an apology. "So sorry to be late, it's a pleasure to see you all again." Looking down at her napkin to avoid some of the more avid stares, Lauren forced herself to remember Chuck's implacable expression. 'It couldn't be worse than having a gun jammed in my side, right?' 

She was reconsidering that assumption after another round of drinks were ordered and desserts finished. Looking longingly down where a meek Clara sat next to Arabella, Lauren wished she'd been early enough to snag a seat next to her only two allies. The woman next to her was just finishing the story of the "effort" required to get her son back into his college after being caught in a cheating scandal. The man on the other side was earnestly comparing the merits of an early face-lift with the woman next to him.

 

"Let's get started, shall we?" Number One's wife might be slightly past tipsy and slurring into drunk, but she could command a room. The vaguely malicious smile she wore as she pointed down the table to Lauren made the girl stiffen. "It's time to set up our latest fundraiser," Arabella commented, "and as agreed by the board we want to continue with a music focus. Since our new Mrs. Pine is a professional musician with the London Symphony Orchestra, I've decided to turn the planning for the concept over to her. Lauren darling, after seeing our last charity effort, how would you change the direction of this next one?"

The girl briefly considered throwing her napkin over her head and pretending she was invisible, but since that didn't seem like a viable escape attempt, Lauren forced a smile and leaned forward, clearing her throat. "I don't think the last fundraiser on behalf of the LSO scholarship could possibly have been more successful," she said with a polite nod towards Arabella, who preened a little under the praise as she ordered another Cosmopolitan. "But I was thinking…" Lauren smiled as she warmed to her subject. "This time, what if we take a more hands-on approach with some of the local schools here in London? While college- i mean University here, of course, scholarships are critical towards helping a professional musician move on, think of the children who never have an opportunity to learn music- it's a terrible loss of potential for the future."

The same woman who'd complained about getting her son back into Eton after he [aid someone to hack the school's computer system and altered his grades (and several others for money) sniffed. "There is a perfectly lovely music program at my son's school," she said, "they don't need any help, heaven knows I write a large enough tuition check every year."

Lauren pasted on her insincere social smile and continued, "Well actually Evelyn, I was thinking of neighborhood schools with limited or no funding for the arts. Imagine how many talented children we're losing? What if this next fundraiser sponsored several of those schools with a music program and a yearly scholarship that would grow over the years to be a full university scholarship by the time the child turns 18? We could go in and talk about the arts, invite musicians in to play..." her eager voice died off as she realized half the table was looking at her with blank expressions and the other half looked almost offended.

"Go into those schools?" a well-coiffed blonde sniffed, "With those _people?"_

Lauren was struck with a sudden desire to laugh uproariously. The blonde reminded her so much of Tom's officious neighbor, of the 'Berkshire Hardings?' "I promise," she said in a deeply saccharine tone, "that you won't catch a single cootie by mingling with children from the lower income areas." She actually did have to choke down a chortle when she caught one woman mouthing the word "cootie?" to another. "With new some of the new online crowdfunding resources," she continued eagerly, "we could pay for teachers as well as provide instruments. This is just the sort of program that would get donors outside of Corporation circles interested in helping. We could exponentially magnify our reach-"

Arabella's voice cut her off. "Lauren, my dear," she said with an edge of steel under her well-bred tone, "we do not allow outsiders into a Corporation charity effort. Ever."

There was an awkward silence around the table and Lauren was about to grab the tumbler of whiskey from the man sitting next to her and down it in one gulp when Clara's small voice spoke up. "I think it's a wonderful idea," she said, cringing only slightly when all the mascara'ed and botoxed eyes turned to her, "we don't have to involve outsiders, but these fundraisers certainly net enough funds to start the programs Lauren is suggesting. And the kind of press coverage the Corporation would receive for this kind of hands-on outreach program is much more favorable just covering another society luncheon. It's an excellent way to foster goodwill in the business community."

While Number Three's fiancé took another shaky sip of water, Lauren had to remind herself to close her dropped jaw. 'Holy shit!' she thought, 'who knew little Clara had it in her?' With a warm smile, she thanked Clara and after another round of drinks, laid out some of the basic ideas she was thinking of and promised to type them into a memo for everyone as the meeting came to a slightly drunken close.

"Well done," murmured Arabella, slipping her arm through Lauren's as they exited the restaurant. "I didn't mean to cut you off so quickly, but we can never open a Corporation charity effort to outsiders, it's crucial you understand."

The new Mrs. Pine shrugged with a wry twist to her mouth, "Oh please," she scoffed, "thank y _ou_. What kind of an idiot I am I? Outside scrutiny is the last thing we would want!" Mildly shocked, Lauren realized that she had now included herself in this vast conspiracy. 'When did _that_ happen?' she wondered. 

"I already know what Ben will say," Arabella mused, leaning a little more heavily on Lauren for support than she was aware, "he'll say 'that's far too visible! You idiots! What made you agree to something so stupid?'" she cut off rapidly when she caught her friend's shocked gaze. "Oh no darling," she said hastily, "he wouldn't say any of that to _you_. Just me." With a harsh giggle, she continued their meandering towards the exit. "At any rate," she said casually, "it's not as if much would be going to the children anyway, so-"

"What do you mean?" Lauren interrupted, slowing her down to look at the suddenly pale face of Number One's wife.

"Nothing dearie," Arabella said hastily, "I think I've just had too many cocktails, I don't know what I'm saying."

Nodding, Lauren wrapped her arm around the other woman's waist more firmly. While Arabella was certainly drunk, she suspected the woman was quite aware of she was saying, even if she didn't mean to say it out loud.  

 

"Darling."

Lauren just stifled a small moan, listening to Thomas's deep, cultured tone make her shiver through her phone, "How was the luncheon?  I've already heard glowing comments about some of your new ideas."

"How nice to hear," she responded mechanically, not even remotely surprised that her spouse had already received a full report, and likely an edited video with a full transcript. And what everyone wore. And if she ordered the fish or chicken. "Actually," Lauren responded, "you would've been so impressed with Clara! She actually stood up for my plan and brilliantly pointed out that hands-on charities get much more positive coverage these days than boring black-tie affairs. She was amazing." They talked about the meeting for a little longer before Thomas's tone actually sounded a little regretful.

"I'm afraid I will not be home until quite late, pet," he said.

Lauren was a little embarrassed at her unconcealed tone of disappointment. "Oh? Okay."

She could hear a soft shifting, as if her husband was settling back, getting comfortable in his leather office chair. "It's quite cruel, you know," Thomas's voice was so low, almost raspy as if they were sharing a dark secret. "I've been so aroused by the thought of you all day, particularly after your magnificent performance before all of those- what do you call them- the Ladies Who Lunch?" Lauren heard him purr a little when she giggled. "And I owe my good, sweet girl some appreciation after doing such an excellent job today."

The girl's mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she tried to think of something to say.

"Darling?" Lauren heard the slightly sharper tone in her husband's voice and struggled to answer him.

"Um... yes, Sir?" There was a pause and an almost audible growl, and she shivered delightedly. A growl from Thomas always meant a delightful outcome for her.

"Where are you now?" Thomas knew exactly where his lovely bride was, thanks to his well-placed home cameras, but he enjoyed the game.

There was a little pause. "In the living room?"

Running a long finger over his upper lip, Thomas watched his pretty wife shiver a little. "Very good, darling. I want you to sit on the leather sofa."

"I...? Okay," Lauren answered a little confused. But he sounded so good, her dark husband, and this deep, rumbling purr was very difficult to say 'no' to.

"Now," he soothed in the filthiest possible tone, "pull up your skirt and spread your legs for your Sir." Thomas grinned a little to see her utterly shocked expression from the camera angle. "Go on, now." He could hear the soft rustle of her skirt being moved up just barely as his sweet, nervous wife perched on the edge of the sofa. "Spread. Your. Legs, little girl." His stern "Sir" tone had made far more experienced girls than his bride crumble, but he grinned to see Lauren do as she was told. "Now..." Thomas settled back too, ignoring his swelling cock. This was about training his lovely bride and he would exercise restraint. 

Why was she so nervous? Lauren was teetering on the brink of pretending she was following orders and actually doing so. It's not like he was there, looking at her... but it felt like it, somehow.

"Are you paying attention, darling?"

She jumped, nearly slipping off the slick leather seat. "Yes, Sir?" His purr was back in full force.

"Very good. Slide your left hand down your stomach, slowly." Thomas watched as she did as she was told, still biting her lower lip in that way that never failed to send a bolt of arousal straight through his cock. "Slip your fingers under your knickers." The pair Lauren was wearing were plain, white cotton, but he sit bit back a groan to see her long, elegant musician's fingers creep under the fabric and over her center. He could already see a small wet spot darkening the panel and his cock instantly hardened. "Can you feel yourself, pretty girl? That you're already becoming wet?" Watching her hand tentatively explore, Thomas said sharply, "Answer your Sir."

Lauren tried to remember what he had asked her, "Yes, I um, I can feel it. Sir!" she added quickly.

"Very good." _Why_ did his approval make her even wetter? "Now, darling. I want you to picture that it's my hand on your plump little mound, my fingers sliding along that slick pussy. Can you feel the difference? Mine are wider, rougher than yours, aren't they?"

"Yes... Sir," Lauren groaned, trying to listen over the surge of blood to her center. His fingers were divine, long and thick, calloused and scraped so nicely along her soft walls. 

"Do you remember when I was playing with you in my office, darling? You, sprawled out on my desk, such a luscious feast." Hearing her little moan, Thomas smiled darkly. "I put my mouth on your tasty center and licked a long stripe up you, from your entrance to your clit? Run two fingers along your lips, envision them as my tongue, tickling your tender little bud, then closing my lips around it and pulling just a little too hard. I do believe you enjoy that little one, perhaps a bit more than such a good girl should." Thomas drew out "gooood girl" in a filthy way, hearing Lauren trying to choke off a whimper. "Spread your legs wider now, baby. Keep your thumb circling your clit, but those two wet fingers must go inside you, just as mine did." He could tell by his bride's choked gasp she'd obeyed him, and he had to fight down a groan when he caught her shyly pushing her fingers up her channel. 'The camera angle is a little off,' he thought, but the view could not be more erotic. 

"How does that feel, my sweet girl? Tell your Sir."

Lauren was breathing a little faster, but she answered, "Not as good as your fingers, Sir."

Thomas growled and gripped his burgeoning erection through his pants, trying to regain control. This outrageously sexy creature... "I'm sorry, darling," he soothed, but I assure you I shall make up for this late tonight. I'll slip in quietly to find you asleep in our bed, wearing those little shorts you're so fond of- keep moving your fingers!" He could see Lauren's hand slowing in the camera, he grinned as she jumped guiltily and moved her fingers back and forth up her channel. 

"How- how did you know I was slowing down?" she questioned, and Thomas was reminded his darling wife was not gullible.

"Because, baby," he used his deepest, most sonorous voice, "I know how you are when you get distracted. Now, would you like me to make you come?"

Lauren made a desperate sort of noise. "I can't do it without you, Sir. My fingers aren't long enough, and-"

"Shhh..." he murmured, "your Sir will make you come, now listen. And continue your sweet fingers movements. I will peel your flimsy nightwear from you and gently, gently put my mouth on your cunt. Your legs stretch, like a ballerina's when you're aroused, did you know that darling?" His low chuckle was sin. "You point your toes as you come, so very pretty. My warm mouth will be on you, licking and sucking you, toying with your tight little passage with my fingers. That spot you like so much-" he could see Lauren's back arch suddenly, and he grinned wickedly. "Ah, yes. You do remember that spot, don't you? When I brush my fingertips over it, you become so sensitive, almost painfully so, and your satiny cunt clutches my fingers in you." The girl's other hand was currently gripping her blonde curls, looking as if she was trying to hold on to something to keep her sanity. "And while you're spasming, I push my cock inside you. You clenched down so hard before when you've come that you held me inside of you, immobile, until you relax again. And that's what I'm enjoying right now, sweet one, filling you with my cock, pushing you open for me, feeling you tremble. Small pushes, getting inside you deeper each time..."

"Oh, my god... please, Sir!" Lauren wasn't quite sure what she was asking for, but her toes were doing that helpless little pointing thing she didn't even knew she did, and her smaller fingers couldn't find "that" spot, but she was still getting wetter and wetter. 

"...I'm at the top of you, love," he continued mercilessly, "I always fight my desire to pound you until you scream for mercy. You're so..." Thomas drew in a deep, husky breath and Lauren almost cried. "...so very, very snug around me. I've tried to be gentle, not wanting to hurt you. But I forget, little one, what a tough creature you actually are, so now, I think I will fuck you quite hard, drawing out, then slamming my cock back into you as I hear you scream. Wrapping your legs around my waist and forcing you to arch your back so you can feel me push up inside you. I'm grabbing your delightful ass, one cheek in each hand, squeezing quite hard and opening you wider. I can feel your breasts rubs against me, nipples so hard..."

It was possible that his bride was weeping, but Thomas was so aroused by watching her as he forced her to come simply by his dark, compelling voice that he couldn't stop. "And now, darling I can feel you are ready, you need to come. Can you feel it?"

"Yes!" Lauren sniffled a little, but she obediently kept her hand where he'd had her place it.

"Yes, what?" Thomas said coldly.

"Yes, uh, Sir! Yes, Sir! Please, I would really like to come!"

"Good girl," his voice was guttural now, greedy, "tighten those legs around me, my thumb is circling your swollen button and I'm pounding into you, roughly, but I do believe you enjoy being treated like a bad girl, don't you? Now come, baby, nice and hard, I want to hear those pretty moans you made. Come for me now and I shall fuck you just like this tonight. Come now or there will be no more. Now!!"

And, gasping and moaning, Lauren did just as she was told.

After watching her spasm through the last of her orgasm, Thomas clenched his eyes shut, trying to control his own response. "Very good, my precious bride," he soothed, "your Sir is so very proud of you. Pull down your skirt and go upstairs and tidy yourself, and I will be there before you know it." She was silent, only panting a little, and Thomas purred deep in his throat, knowing she loved it. "Baby? Answer your Sir."

"I'm not sure I remember how to form a complete sentence, Sir," she groaned, and he laughed.

"Upstairs now," he urged her. "I will bathe you later, and run my tongue along that abused pussy to soothe it." There was a weak gasp, and his wife hung up.

 

 

 

>


	20. Dinner And A Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren accompanies Thomas on a business trip. Also, dire warnings, spectacular dinners and grasshopper mole'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's dedicated to my beloved Miss_Tardis, I love your city. I adore you.

 

The lovely artwork is from the gifted and clever [TheLeftHand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLeftHand/pseuds/TheLeftHand) \- thank you again, my dear!

 

 

"You have a personal jet?" Lauren straightened up from her suitcase to stare at her husband, and then laugh, shaking her head. "Of course you do."

Thomas didn't look up from the message he was tapping rapidly into his phone. "Jaguar Holdings has three, actually, we _are_ an international company, darling. Clients to meet in every direction on the planet."

Closing the lid and zipping it, Lauren watched him. "Who else is coming on this trip?" 'Please don't say Kingsley or Fassel,' she thought hopefully, 'please! They're such assholes.'

"Kingsley and Fassel, of course," he said, trying not to laugh as her face fell. "I believe Number One's bringing Arabella." Putting away his phone, Thomas eyed her with some amusement and perhaps a tinge of tenderness. "I'm bringing you along, darling, because this isn't as complicated as most business meetings." 'Meaning, no one is going to be executed,' he added silently. "And you have never been to Denmark, I thought you might enjoy joining me."

Lauren watched his bland expression, and the thought 'How did he know I haven't-' rose before she tiredly shoved it away. If she dwelled any longer on how he'd managed to ruthlessly strip away every detail of her life before being ordered into marriage with him, it would drive her mad. Forcing a smile, she nodded. "I love Scandinavia, I had a couple of friends at Julliard who were Norwegian. That whole part of the world is amazing." She shivered a little as Thomas rose to his full height, those long legs making him tower over her. 

With his most devastating smile, he leaned in to whisper, "And we shall discover it together."

 

"Thomas, my boy! Right on time."

Lauren cringed a little to hear the falsely effusive tone of Number One greet them as Thomas led her onto the Gulfstream IV. The other two heads of the Corporation were seated, along with Arabella, who was already holding a rather large cocktail. But Thomas answered easily, "Of course. Is everyone aboard? The three of us must speak before meeting with the Dybt vand Partnerskab. There's some variables we must discuss first, and..." Suddenly finding herself seated with a silky blanket over her lap and a glass of wine in her hand, Lauren could only blink as the men moved to the next room, gathering around a conference table and shutting the door between the two spaces with a decisive snap.

Staring for a moment at the closed door, wondering how her husband had slid so effortlessly into heartless Corporation mode and left her behind, Lauren stiffened to hear Arabella's not-unsympathetic voice behind her. "Didn't expect that, eh?" She turned her head to look at Number One's wife, who was already up and making herself another drink. Holding up the wine bottle from the ice bucket, Arabella silently offered to refill her glass. Lauren flushed and shook her head. It was one thing to be home in the quiet of Thomas's elegant house and selecting a bottle of wine to finish off and, well, here, with a woman who she wasn't certain was a friend or an enemy was watching her closely. 

Taking a deep breath and pasting on a smile, Lauren asked, "So, tell me what business trips are like. What's expected of us..." she almost choked on the word, the connotation of ownership to the bespoke-suited man who made her marry him feeling so obvious, "...us wives?"

Seating herself elegantly, Arabella shrugged, "The same thing we'd do at home, dearie. Look pretty. Be alert. Keep our mouths shut." Her voice was just a touch louder, Lauren noted- not loud enough to seep through the door and alert the attention of Numbers One, Two and Three. But clearly loud enough to show she was well on her way to drunk.

"Beautiful," she said sarcastically, "I feel so fulfilled. Now I can travel to new and exotic places to look pretty and keep my mouth shut!" Lauren had gulped down her glass of wine without noticing, and Arabella rose to fill it again.

"Did I ever tell you," she offered suddenly, "how I came to be Mrs. Ben Kingsley?"

Lauren's eyes widened. "No?"

Arabella chuckled humorlessly. "I was a popular... fixture in the Corporate brothel." Watching the girl carefully, she saw those lavender eyes widen slightly, but nothing else. No ugly judgement. “I made...” she paused, smiling dreamily, “ridiculous amounts of money. Men would offer me their credit cards to drain dry, sheiks taking huge diamonds of their fingers. One Nigerian billionaire told me I would be- and I think I understood him correctly- his number one wife.”

Lauren smiled tentatively, as usual completely out of her depth. “It sounds like you were the toast of London.”

”Mmmmm,” Arabella agreed shamelessly, “but I aged out. It happens quickly, you know.” She straightened and preened slightly. “I lasted longer than any of the other girls, I was in my mid thirties.” She chuckled humorlessly. “You’d think I would be quite wealthy by then,  but you’d be amazed at how quickly it all disappears. Clothes, shoes. Plastic surgery.” She gently touched her breasts, then her bottom, and finally her nose, eyes and cheekbones, smiling a little as Lauren nodded raptly, deep into her story. The older woman’s mouth twisted. “Thousands of pounds ended up my nose as well. The point is-“ she gestured grandly, splashing her drink a bit on the bar counter, “-after all of that, I was unwilling to end up in some little backwater like the one I’d escaped from as a teenager. You can’t, you know. Once you see how good it can be. To be... unimportant again.” Arabella shuddered, rapidly finishing her drink and making another one, all the while anxiously watching the closed door. “At any rate, by then Ben was paying particular attention to me. Meeting me outside the brothel at lovely restaurants, introducing me to important people like I was a... human. Like someone to be courted.”

”You are, you know,” Lauren offered. “Smart. Beautiful, charming...” she smiled warmly, “girl, I’ve seen you in action.”

They laughed together, the room feeling warmer with their small intimacy. Then Arabella’s Juviderm'ed lips firmed. “This is a lifetime position, dearie. I have everything I could ever want, but i know this is a contract. Not a commitment. It's an oath signed in blood. No one leaves the Corporation. Not alive.” She watched the blood drain from the face of Thomas’s bride. “Appreciate  your privileges, dearie. But this is a bulletproof contract.” Arabella chuckled at her little joke. “Find a way to enjoy it.”

Looking at Number One’s wife closely, really closely for the first time, Lauren could see the grooves worn into Arabella’s skin from gritting her teeth until the enamel was powder, from clenching her jaw shut instead of screaming. She wanted to know if Arabella would have still said ‘yes,’ knowing what she knew now. But with a sick sense of certainty, the girl was certain she didn’t want to know the answer. 

Laughing and finishing her drink, Arabella smiled at the wife of Number Two as she made herself comfortable on an adjoining couch. “The men will take forever,” she yawned, “I may as well get my beauty sleep. Talk to you in three hours or so...” Her heavy crystal glass loosened in her manicured grasp as she dozed off, and Lauren rose to carefully take it from her slack fingers and pull a folded blanket up over Arabella’s shoulders. Sitting vigil over the snoring blonde, Lauren wondered what would happen to her when she “aged out” of Thomas’s interest. Would he let her go? Or make sure she was never a risk again?

Focused on the upcoming meeting with their reluctant Danish counterparts, Thomas didn’t notice Lauren’s unnatural stillness on the ride to the hotel. He pointed out some features- the bright, multi-colored row houses and the Tivoli Gardens. When they pulled up to the Nobis Hotel, Lauren audibly gasped. She'd begun to love the minimalist, sleeker style of Thomas's home, vs. her usual cheerful clutter and soft and squishy couches. He was watching her with a faint smile. "I thought you'd like this hotel- it's a renovation from the old Royal Danish Academy of Music. We're right on the edge of the cultural district, so you can do some exploring while I'm busy during the day."

Lauren was swept by a wave of confusion warring with hope, hearing his kindness to her. Was he just keeping his pet busy so he could concentrate on business, or did he really think she would enjoy these things? She would, of course. He knew everything about her, whether she'd told him or not. "Thank you, Thomas. I know the Royal Library and the National Museum are close by, then. I would love to walk through them." She waited until they were ensconced in their suite to say anything else. Her husband did not appreciate anything but the most bland discussions in front of other people. "Do you know how long you'll be in meetings? Is this a complicated deal?" She was skating on the edge of asking too much, and she knew it.

His expression was cool when he looked at from his phone, but Thomas answered calmly enough. "I shouldn't be long today, and fortunately this particular group does not require wining and dining outside of business hours," he gave her a sly smile, the kind that always made Lauren give a foolish, little grin in return. "And I have such plans for you tonight, darling." Staring at him and biting back a whimper, she wondered for the millionth time how a man who could kill as easily as caress her could make her lower half feel like it had been set aflame. Stepping closer so he dwarfed her slighter frame, her beautiful and terrifying spouse pulled her fully against him, hands sliding down to squeeze her ass appreciatively. "I've packed a special dress for you for tonight. I'll text you when I'm about to return so you can get ready, yes?"

Currently trying to strangle back a needy little moan, Lauren settled for nodding rapidly. "Mmm, hmmm?" she managed, eyelashes fluttering madly as Thomas squeezed her ass again.

"Talk to your Sir, baby. I despise mumbling," it sounded like chastisement but she could hear the grin in his voice.

"Thank you, um, Sir," Lauren managed. "What should I dress for?"

"Dinner..." he kissed down her neck with the kind of slow, sucking ones that made her weak in the knees. "Perhaps dancing... and something special. A surprise."

"Um, a good surprise?" Lauren asked hopefully.

His deep, greedy chuckle didn't comfort her much. "I certainly hope so, darling."

 

Lauren knew she should probably rest up for whatever dark and seductive doings Thomas had planned for her that night- she was no fool, she recognized his tone and what it meant for her- but she was too keyed up with nervous energy, so she dragged an expressionless Chuck along for a walk through the museums. "C'mon, Chuck!" she cajoled, "It's not like I'm hauling you onto one of the roller coasters at Tivoli Gardens, right? You in that nice blue suit, tie slapping up in your face from the velocity of the drop-" she stopped when she caught the vaguely green hue of her body guard's complexion. "Dude..." Lauren grinned a little, "you're not freaked out by rollercoasters, right? A big serious badass like you scared of-"

"I would suggest you cease this line of conversation unless you wish me to vomit on your shoes, Miss Lauren." Chuck's voice was as bland as ever, but she instantly felt guilty. 

"Sorry..." they walked in silence for a moment, until she took his suited arm and grinned. "C'mon. Let's go watch the changing of the Guard at Christiansborg Palace. You know you're better armed than all of them put together." Enjoying his little sigh, Lauren dragged him off into the direction of the palace.

 

Lauren knew one of the main reasons Thomas selected the Nobis Hotel. Their bathroom made her jaw drop and she gave out a little girlish squeal. Their tub was more like an infinity pool- all dark marble and a long, narrow pool-like bath with glowing blue lights underwater that made her think she was swimming in the perfection of the tide pools just blocks away. Hearing the chime of her text go off, her head turned, knowing that her deadly and alluring Sir was planning... something. Shuddering slightly in the suddenly cold water, she hoped she was ready for it.

”Darling?”

Her makeup brush paused over over cheekbone, Lauren frozen as she heard Thomas’s calm, measured steps approach the dressing room attached to the bedroom. Her eyes closed when his warm hands closed over her shoulders. “You...” he drawled out, “are even lovelier than I could hope for.” His bride flushed, looking down. The dress he’d left for her... so far out her comfort zone so as not to be in the same galaxy. But his suddenly flared pupils and the slightly too-hard grip on her shoulders, well, that was good. She was sure of it. The dress Thomas had selected was magnificent- another black one, as he preferred as against her blonde hair and paler skin. It was simple, hitting mid-thigh with a modest curve of a neckline, but a wildly plunging back that draped just on the dimples over her ass. As requested, she'd pulled her hair up in a complicated chingon with a cluster of curls around her face. Thomas was suddenly possessed with an urge to hike that little black skirt up and hoist his wife up on his dick, but then his breathing returned to normal as he watched her awkwardly fuss with the hem. Forcing a reassuring smile, he leaned down to kiss her carefully, not disturbing her lipstick. But later... he thought, his thumb would smear vivid red stripes of her lipstick all over her mouth and chin, making his Lauren look just as debauched and used as he intended to make her.

"It's a pretty dress," Lauren finally offered, "a little out of my comfort zone, but..." she laughed suddenly, "but so is everything else right now, so the dress is just the latest thing to squirm about." She shifted her feet, then looked up at him, "You really think I look pretty?" She instantly cursed herself for saying such a needy thing to this man, but Thomas placed her face between his warm palms and kissed her lingeringly. 

"Not pretty, darling. Beautiful."

 

Even Lauren, who was not particularly a "foodie," though she'd certainly learned a great deal in her short marriage with Thomas, knew about Noma, the legendary Danish restaurant. "The owner built the restaurant from the ground up, the greenhouses and gardens first," he commented, strolling down the simple path towards the building. To their left was a series of wetlands, and Lauren smiled to hear the birds calling to each other in the dusk. The restaurant was more of the same- warm wood and stone, huge windows looking out into nature. When the server placed a pot of herbs before them, Lauren wrinkled her brow. Chuckling, Thomas leaned over to part the leaves. "Do you see the straw, darling? You are meant to drink the broth while breathing scent of the herbs in to your lungs."

Her composure broke and the girl giggled a little. "This is too much... okay." Doing as he directed, Lauren sighed as the thick broth complemented the rich smell of the thyme. Thomas was watching her, the pleasure of her discovery clear.

"What do you think?"

Lauren daintily wiped her lips. "This is half utterly amazing and half way too groovy to be real."

Laughing, Thomas nodded. "I can accept that. Ah, here comes our next course."

There were 20 in total, tiny, fragrant bites that she "Oooo'ed and ahhh'ed" over. But one course made Lauren moan after a single bite and whip out her phone, angling it at the dish of cloudberries with bee pollen and flowers in a wax shell. "I hate it when people take pictures of their food," she confessed, "but this is too amazing! I have to send Macie a-" Something in Thomas twinged uncomfortably when his bride's happy voice faltered and stilled, phone placed back on the table. She couldn't send pictures to her best friend. There was no one to send pictures to. No one to trust.

Standing briefly, Thomas moved his chair to seat himself next to Lauren. "Darling, take a picture of us with our plates. If we are to be snobbish foodies, we must have a snobbish foodie selfie."

As he'd hoped, she laughed delightedly. "The snobbish foodie couple selfie! I love it." With her heart cracking only halfway, Lauren smiled as she took the picture of the two of them, sighing as she checked it. Her handsome husband was laughing, head thrown back a little and an utterly uncharacteristic expression of relaxation and humor on his face. Her blonde head was bent into his darker one, and they looked like a newlywed couple in... love, maybe? Maybe not love, but something close.

 

Feeling pleasantly loose-limbed from the wine flight accompanying their meal and a little giddy from her husband's unusual playfulness, Lauren settled back in the car and sighed as Thomas ran his hand up her mostly bare thigh. "Where to now, Thomas?"

He raised one brow. "What makes you think there's more, little girl?"

The atmosphere in the car suddenly cooled, turning shadowy as Lauren heard her diabolical Sir's voice deepen, become raspy. "Um... Dinner was perfect, um... Sir." She felt rather than heard his growl, a little pleased she'd diagnosed his mood correctly, "But even though Noma was beyond, oh my god! So beyond amazing, you have an air of... maybe, anticipation? Could you give me a little hint, maybe?" Her voice was a little higher, more anxious, but Lauren forced herself to finish the thought. 

Thomas took her hand and kissed it lingeringly. "You've come so far from where we began baby, can you go a little farther?" She could feel and see his grin as he scraped his teeth lightly over her knuckles.

Licking her suddenly dry mouth, Lauren managed, "What did you have in mind?"

 

Whatever impressions the girl might have had of what a kink club or a dungeon might look like, it wasn't the attractive, but nondescript building they pulled up to. Lauren was no fool, she was pretty sure that look of barely-concealed lust and anticipation on Thomas's face meant they weren't stopping somewhere for an after-dinner drink. Speaking of drinks... she kind of wished she'd finished that rather large glass of wine with their last course- pumpkin seed “tofu” curd with Molè made from walnuts and grasshoppers. And grilled rose petals. She was so busy trying to taste the grasshopper part that she actually forgot to finish the house-brewed honey wine from the restaurant's own beehives. A little extra kick of liquid courage would have helped right now. Thomas exited the car and helped Lauren out himself, ignoring Chuck's dour face when he told their security team to wait outside. The girl could feel the faint vibration of a bass-heavy dubstep as her beautiful and terrifying spouse led her down a dark staircase. And at the bottom, two more discreet checkpoints before entering a large room filled with people- some in evening wear like theirs, some in leather, some in panties or complicated harnesses and a few in nothing at all. Wide eyes scanning the room, Lauren was relieved to not find anyone chained to a wall getting flogged within an inch of their lives. Despite the nudity and casual caressing, no one seemed to be doing anything aggressively BDSM. Feeling his wife's tense form sag slightly in relief, Thomas placed a kiss against her temple.

"What were you expecting, baby?"

Shrugging awkwardly, Lauren continued to scan the room. "I'm not sure." There was obviously a large international contingent here- she heard several different languages, but the Danish hosts and staff were beautiful- perfect skin and pale eyes, blonde and long-limbed. Thanking Thomas gratefully when he handed her a glass, she almost choked on her first sip. Fanning her red cheeks, the girl looked at him, startled.

Laughing, Thomas guided her over to an elevated area with a couch. "You took a gulp before I could warn you, darling. This is a rather famous specialty drink particular to this club. There's six different kinds of liquor, mixer and two types of juice." Lauren took another cautious sip. The liquors blended together so smoothly that it wasn't harsh, like a shot, but it definitely packed a punch on it's way down her throat, warming her insides. Seating himself, Thomas smoothly pulled her on to his lap, gently adjusting her skirt to cover her legs and settling her bottom firmly against his crotch. "Sit back, Lauren," he murmured, "the show's about to begin."

"What show?" Just as the words left her mouth the crowds drew apart a bit as a beautiful man and a woman walked through the room, heading for a raised platform Lauren hadn't noticed before. She managed to swallow the mouthful of alcohol with a gulp as the two casually stripped. "Oh..." she managed, "a _show._ Is this going to be... um..."

"Shhh," Thomas whispered into her ear, enjoying his wife's little shudder and how goosebumps followed his fingers down her neck. "I assure you, this is quite educational." He began to translate the narration in a low, unfairly erotic tone as Lauren watched, deeply uncomfortable and to her shock, equally as interested. "No one knows us here, darling," the Devil, better known as the man who made her marry him, bit her earlobe gently, "you can be as curious as you like, there's no one here to judge you." Lauren shivered, trying to not wiggle too much, already feeling the clear indications of her husband’s interest hardening under her ass. The man had already helped the woman on to the table, walking around her, smoothing his hands over her skin. He instructed her in Danish, and she obediently lifted her arms over her head, back arching a bit as he fastened her wrists tightly, jerking them upwards. Putting a spreader bar at her knees (that thing she remembered, Lauren thought, a little proud of herself, flushing when she remembered her Sir using it on her,) the man finally secured her ankles, slapping her belly lightly, obviously encouraging her to strain against her bonds. 

"What, um... what's he going to do to her?" Lauren whispered, not sure if she wanted to watch or bury her face in her diabolical Sir's neck. 

Thomas stroked her thigh soothingly. "This is for orgasm denial, and then multiple orgasms. But she is helpless to achieve satisfaction without him. A demonstration, darling." He stifled a grin when he felt her nod a bit. "I want you to picture yourself on that table, lovely. Bound and helpless, legs stretched so lewdly, so far apart. The crowd looking at your lovely little cunt." The man began using a vibrator on his sub, grinning when he heard her first moan, stroking her lips as the vibrator buzzed mercilessly on her clit. "Watch darling," Thomas whispered, "watch her flush, her breathing speeds up, pulling against her bonds, just as you do when you want to come." Just then, the man pulled the buzzing device away, and the sub cried out in disappointment. And it began again. "This is edging, baby," her Sir continued, his deep and velvety voice making Lauren squirm a little. "He will bring her close to orgasm, I believe for the purposes of this demonstration, six times." He sounded vaguely disapproving, "Hardly enough time to really build up the desperate need, the slick and swollen lips- like yours, so puffy and sweet- but her need to come will be quite intense."

Lauren frowned when the man pulled out two ominous-looking clips, hanging from a chain. She cringed when he briskly attached them to the woman's hard nipples, the man smiling unkindly when he heard his sub's hoarse cry. He yanked harshly on the chain connecting them, watching her bound body convulse. "Why is he doing that?" she managed to ask Thomas, "Is that to keep her from, uh, coming?"

Handing her a fresh drink, he chuckled darkly. "Oh, no, darling girl. This will make controlling her orgasm even more difficult. There is a perfect line- a vibration- between arousal and pain that makes an orgasm beyond imagination. The intensity of your agony- being fucked through your pain into coming helplessly, uncontrollably. A regular orgasm will never be as satisfying again." Looking at her unconvinced expression, Thomas kissed her again. "Imagine being on that platform, bound by your Sir and tormented until you would do anything- everything to be allowed to come. Even letting me hurt you. Even enjoying the pain mix with your greedy cunt's need to come." The man yanked on the chain connecting the sub's nipples again as he slid inside her, thrusting harshly, once, twice, and on the fifth time, barking something in Danish that made the woman under him stiffen and scream, shaking uncontrollably and pulling against her bound wrists. Slapping her clipped breasts, he ordered her again, and the sub wailed this time, as if coming was actually painful. There was applause then, the crowd complimenting the two. The man rose and bowed slightly, his cock shining with slick in the low light and bobbing lewdly.

Shakily taking another gulp of her drink, Lauren tried to breathe normally. She knew he was watching her, her dark and scary Sir.

"What did you think of that, little one?" he asked, his grin lascivious and only a little teasing. "Would you like to be next on that platform? Allow me to torment you, edge you into begging to come, then clamping those cruel grips on these lovely pink nipples?"

To her shock, Lauren realized Thomas's long fingers had slid inside her neckline and were toying with her achingly hard nipples. "N-no! I wouldn't like to be in front of- oh, god- in front of all these people! Just alone with..." she groaned, embarrassed at how aroused she was, feeling her thin underwear wet and her bare thighs damp. 

"Alone with me?" Thomas finished smoothly, "Letting me play with you with those lovely toys, making you scream and moan for me? But just the two of us. Your Sir taking care of you."

"Yes," she agreed gratefully, having no idea she'd stepped right into the smooth introduction of her husband's "play" room when they returned home, "just us."

 

Chuck and Aimes carefully looked anywhere but at Lauren's painfully flushed face and unsteady steps as her diabolical spouse ushered her solicitously into the car. And if the faint sound of moaning slipped past the sound-proofed barrier between the front and the expansive back seat, neither said a word. 

 

 

 

 

From the clever and lovely Archy3001. Thank you, love!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am madly in love with Copenhagen- I never actually got to explore the city, though I hiked around Denmark a bit when I lived in Norway for a year. But the restaurant Noma is real, and it's on my culinary bucket list. One day... one day Noma, you WILL be mine.


	21. I Promise You, You Will Beg For More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren discovers that sometimes, it's better that locked doors stay locked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to misreall for helping me with Thomas's "play room." We agreed that he would not be your cliché black leather guy, but I had trouble visualizing it until she wrote out a wonderfully descriptive idea. I looked up some images on Google and you wouldn't believe how elegant BDSM dungeons can be. Who knew? High fashion for the discerning Dom.

Lovely artwork from the gifted hands of TheLeftHand - thank you, love!

 

 

Lauren was in a state she secretly called "sex-drunk," so she wasn't surprised that the business trip somehow seemed to speed up and she was suddenly back on the Corporation jet and winging home to London before she could wipe that silly smile off her face. First, the episode in the car after leaving the kink club, when Thomas had literally pounced on her, tearing her dress a little in his hurry to get inside her. 

 

"We- Thomas, we can't- not in front of Chuck!" she'd managed to gasp, scandalized before he burst into laughter- shocking enough to see from her urbane and composed Sir.

"It sounds so very close to: 'Not in front of the children!'" he was still laughing, on top of her and very much wedged between her legs. Lauren was alarmed to find the movement of his chuckling was having a very distracting effect on her damp center. "I assure you darling," Thomas soothed, running his rough, warm hands up her bare thighs, "that the backseat is soundproofed and Straker- ah, Chuck- and Aimes will not hear a thing." She wanted to protest, but he was doing that thing with his hips, swirling them back and forth, the seam of his zipper scratching just slightly against the silk panel of her underwear and rubbing along the swollen lips of her- "So wet," he groaned approvingly, "I can always feel when you're ready for me, how your hips inch up, a little shyly, the delicate swelling of this tasty kitty..." his hips moved especially hard against her, and Lauren moaned loudly, then slapping her hand over her mouth, startled. His dark form rose above her, her Sir looking down at her sternly. "If you fear your security team hearing you being fucked quite soundly, may I suggest you attempt to keep quiet?" The beautiful man tormenting her grinned a little cruelly when he saw her eyes narrow resentfully, then flutter shut as he ground against her again. "Good girls stay quiet if they must," his exquisite, lush voice whispered into her ear, "they don't shriek and moan, they don't beg their Sir to fuck them harder." She was so caught up in the chilly alchemy of his voice that Lauren barely noticed her husband had unzipped his pants and pulled her undies aside until the wet, hot tip of him was spreading her wide. Enjoying his bride's pretty gasps, the way her back arched, Thomas barely managed to utter, "Are you a good girl, or a bad girl, little one?"

As his hips pushed upward, sending that thick cock through her, feeling like he was spearing into her stomach, Lauren was shocked by two things, first, how ridiculously wet she was- watching that couple, that shouldn't have-

"OH!, Oh, god, Thomas!" And secondly, that she was probably a bad girl because she couldn't stop the shriek that ripped from her throat, or the positively licentious one that he drew from her after that one. Lauren could feel the cool seat rubbing against her back, one foot having lost her shoe and resting on Thomas's shoulder and the other one bracing on the floor, pushing up against this deliciously sinister man who terrified her almost as much as he aroused her.

His corresponding groan rattled through the luxury compartment as Thomas's head dropped to rest on her collarbone. His wife was having an uncomfortably limiting effect on his iron self-control. One of her elegant, musician's hands was gripping his shoulder, trying to brace herself against his thrusts and the other was sliding her long fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and stroking his curls- damn, he must get his stylist to come by the office and give him a trim- but back to that eager little cunt of hers... "Being inside you, sweetness, all your heat and wet..." Thomas groaned again, trying to regain some control, "the way you shape around my cock and draw me in, you are luscious, my innocent angel. Sweet and filthy, all at once." He thrust especially hard, and Lauren gave a very satisfying shriek, which died off into a moan as he smoothed out his strokes again. "You are both- my good girl, and my bad, bad little girl."

Lauren was watching the reflection of his ass in the darkened glass of the car's sunroof, seeing that muscled part of him slide sinuously back and forth. 'Of course he can dance,' she was trying to gather some sort of conclusion, but it drifted away with the feeling of his hips and against her, dipping and sliding his cock inside and out of her again. "I..." she licked her lips, trying to remember what they'd been talking about, something about her being...? The girl settled for slipping her hands over his ass, squeezing it appreciatively and watching his muscled bottom flex and tighten as he thrust up into her. 

Finally bracing his knees on the seat, Thomas slid his hands up to her shoulders, bringing her down on his cock harshly, enjoying her corresponding gasp and closing his eyes against the look on her sweet face- eyes closed, pink mouth open and panting and a beautiful flush on her cheeks. Giving one, last brutal thrust, he whispered, "Look at your Sir, don't be shy." When those luminous purple eyes fluttered open to stare into his, the chilly Number Two of Jaguar Holdings was shocked to feel himself come, the finish tearing through his cock and deep into her, feeling those greedy, rhythmic squeezes from Lauren's center that told him she was joining him. 

 

So really, Lauren thought defensively, looking down at the blue of the ocean, it was no surprise the rest of the business trip passed by in a pleasant, hormonal blur. She would attempt to take a run with Chuck in the morning, loosening up all the stiff, sore bits, and then Thomas would return to the hotel and corner her, fucking her silly in whatever spot he'd managed to catch her. Then, he would take her to dinner, and then maybe a walk. As driven and harsh as her spouse could be, it startled her to see him rather relaxed, patient if she wanted to stop to admire a painting or some architecture, how he'd smile indulgently as she pointed out the sunset over the water. It all made Lauren secretly wish they could have a honeymoon... 'Stop it,' she lectured herself coldly, watching Number Two disappear again into the other cabin of the jet on the way home. 'This wasn't a honeymoon, it was a business trip. And this isn't a marriage, it's a business arrangement.' Feeling diminished by her reverse pep talk, she smiled weakly at a curious Arabella and pretended to take a nap.

 

And once they returned from the business trip and Lauren's sex-drunk haze receded, she remembered- to her horror- exactly what she'd agreed to that night in the kink club. 'The big... scene-y thing? Like at the club? But... at home? Probably at home, right?' the girl thought, sawing through a round of Joseph Haydn's _"Symphony No. 60 (‘Il distratto’)"_ which was living up to it's name by being just as impossible to get through perfectly in 2018 as it had been performed in 1775. Groaning as her bow clanged off her c string, snapping the horsehair of the bow loose as the string ripped free of the cello's neck, Lauren tossed her bow aside and let the instrument slump against her shoulder as she pondered her extremely poorly thought out agreement. Eyeing her ruined bow, the fine strands of horsehair spreading across the beautiful oriental rug, Lauren sighed and set the cello aside, rising to pace through the room, eyeing the afternoon sun and pondering her fate. She heard her scary husband's Jaguar enter their garage, and then his footsteps, stately against the slate of the kitchen floor.

"Darling? I thought I'd take you out to dinner."

His damned, compelling voice... Lauren's eyes closed and she shuddered, a little blissfully. Thomas's voice was like music to her, following along the line of some exquisite melody that always made her long to hear the finish, the cadenza that would crush any resistance her sane self had built up to the mysterious, beautiful killer she was married to.

"Lauren?"

She could hear his footsteps on the oak stairs now, pausing at the third landing and ascending to the fourth floor, getting closer and closer to her. Like he was stalking her, like a jungle cat. Unaware that the same image had sent a violent bolt of arousal down the spine of her darkly beautiful spouse, Lauren felt the same heat shoot to her center, making her groan a little bit and rise hastily to her feet. "I'm up in my practice room, Thomas! I'll be right down."

Pressing his lips together in amusement as he heard the rapid patter of her feet across the wooden floor, Thomas idly loosened his tie and leaned against the bannister, waiting for his pretty bride to appear. "Ah, there you are," he purred approvingly, watching her flushed face and that little delighted smile, looking almost guilty to be so pleased to see him. "Are you finished with practicing for the day?" He was idly sorting through the mail she'd left on the hall table, a slight smile curling his mouth.

'He's totally fucking with me,' Lauren thought bleakly. "Yes?"

Her husband looked up at her, one elegant brow arched. "You sound uncertain." Climbing the final flight of stairs to where she stood, shifting her feet from side to side, Thomas leaned down to her, hands braced on the railing and breathing her in. "Are you finished, baby..." she stifled a whimper as his nose teased hers lightly, "or are you not?"

"W-why?" she managed to croak, feeling herself lean into him. His hands slid up her torso, thumbs idly caressing her ribs and stroking just under her breasts.

"Well, if you're done, darling, I can..." here, Thomas choked back a grin as his pretty wife actually whimpered, "...I can..." he put a slow, sucking kiss just under her ear, "...take you to dinner."

The hitch of her breath was like music. "Oh... okay. That would be good." 

 

Lauren braced herself all through dinner- at a rustic little place a few blocks from their house that served small plates that were based nearly completely on what was growing in their garden- to see when Thomas would remind her of her promise. He asked about the next couple of performances for the LSO- one in Manchester, the other in Brighton- and ordered more of the bucatini with black truffles. Thomas reminded her of a business dinner with The Butcher (as she'd taken to calling him) when the Frenchman returned that week. He remarked on the excellent photos the Corporation's marketing department had released for her new direction for the charity. And when he took her home, he slipped between their crisp, white sheets, gathering her in his arms and falling asleep. Feeling his arm resting around her, one big hand firmly cupping her breast in his sleep, Lauren watched the shadows of the trees outside reflected against the pale walls of their bedroom. Really? No sex? No mention of... stuff? 'He's fucking with me,' she concluded bleakly before falling asleep.

This continued for another week, Thomas working late or Lauren busy with performances. There were business dinners. Charity luncheons. And no sex. She'd taken to running longer and faster every morning, desperate to burn off her rising sexual frustration and anxiety. It's not like he forgot, she thought grimly. Thomas Pine, Jaguar Holding's terrible Number Two never forgot _anything_. 

 

"AH!" Lauren jumped a foot when one of the musicians in the cello section tapped her on the shoulder.

"What on earth is going on with you?" Michael chuckled, but she could read a little concern in his gaze. He was one of the younger members of LSO, having joined just a couple of years before Lauren. He'd always been good about quitely explaining procedures when she wasn't certain about what to do. "You've been so jumpy for the last few days. I thought your trip to Copenhagen would relax you."

"I'm sorry," she groaned, taking the sheet music from him with a nod, "I dunno... just on pins and needles for some reason."

Michael laughed, picking up his cello case and heading for the exit with her. "Something at home? You're a newlywed, right?"

Forcing a bland smile, Lauren nodded, "Uh, huh..." no way in hell could she mention a word about her life outside of the orchestra. This was her safe place, where things made sense and she felt confident. She tried not to think about Thomas, the Corporation when she was here. At all. "So are you staying the night here in Brighton?" Most of the musicians were being put up at a couple of local hotels. 

"I was planning to," he agreed, "but I'm sure you're eager to get home. Are you at least staying for the afterparty?"

Lauren groaned internally. She desperately wanted to, one of her greatest idols was the guest conductor for the week - Riccardo Chailly from the Berlin Philharmonic, and she was dying to hear him talk. He was brilliant and fascinating. "I'd like to," she admitted, "but..."

It was then of course that Chuck made his appearance. "Are you ready to leave, Miss Lauren?" Her ever-present well-suited shadow reached for her cello case. His dispassionate gaze alternated between her and a suddenly nervous Michael.

Suddenly making up her mind, Lauren lifted her chin a little. "I'd really like to stay for the afterparty. I'm just going to call Thomas." She watched her bodyguard's brow raise as if she'd suggested tearing off her clothes and running screaming through the orchestra pit, but he nodded stiffly. Dialing her husband, Lauren frowned when it went to voicemail. "Hi, Thomas... um, there's an afterparty tonight to honor Conductor Chailly, and I'd really like to go. I um..." she sighed, feeling like a 17 year old asking to stay out till midnight. "Anyway, I'll be home late, unless you have a problem with- unless there's a problem, just let me know, okay? Thanks. L-" The girl stopped short. She'd been about to say "Love you." 

'Omigod what's wrong with you?' she chastised herself, she was used to signing off in such a way with good friends. But to Thomas? Omigod. What would he even do if she said such a thing? This was a business arrangement! Besides, she didn't love him, so... With a sigh, Lauren went to change out of her stage dress.

 

Lounging in the backseat while Chuck and Aimes spoke quietly in the front, Lauren was pleasantly drunk without falling into loud and sloppy. Without quite letting herself see the seriousness of it, she knew her day drinking from Thomas's excellent wine cellar was teaching her how to hold her liquor, more careful about how she spoke and moved. Tonight had been fun. She'd had a chance to stand with the little group listening to Herr Chailly speak- of the flow of the seasons, the movement of time and the rotation of the earth and how music ruled them all and played through nature and the sky and the oceans. When he got very excited he'd lapse into German, so a bit was lost in the translation but it was so beautiful, his animated face and it made Lauren feel like she was part of something larger, grander.

It had been such a long time since she'd felt she belonged. Belonged to anything but Thomas, anyway.

As they pulled into the driveway, the stately house was dark, save a couple of lights on the third floor. Getting out, Lauren eyed them curiously. She recognized the elegant drapes of their bedroom, but the dim light from the window next to it... she'd never been in that room. Thomas dismissed it once as "storage," but it was locked like several other doors in the mansion she shared with her mysterious husband. The light went out as she unlocked the door, and she wondered what Thomas had been doing in there. Suddenly picturing Blackbeard's wives, hanging from hooks by their hair and surrounded by chests filled with gold, the girl shuddered a little and went inside. Thomas was standing just inside their dressing room, removing the cuff links from his dress shirt. The pale blue shirt was unbuttoned, and Lauren shivered a little as she looked at the muscled lines of his abdomen. Just drunk enough to throw caution to the winds, she attempted a sexy stroll across the bedroom. It didn't look too bad until she tripped on the ottoman near the bed and fell on it, rapidly adjusting herself to pose seductively. God, she missed his... 

"I hear the performance went well, darling," her beautiful and exasperating husband had the slightest smile on his face. Lauren wasn't sure if he'd seen her stumble over the furniture- it was never clear with him because Thomas's usual expression was one of urbane amusement. 

"It was wonderful," Lauren gushed a little, "I felt like we were finally performing Herr Chailly's vision."

He glanced over, casually stripping out of his trousers, tight ass perfectly encased in his black boxer briefs. 'At least he's wearing underwear today,' Lauren thought dimly. The sight of that gigantic dick that had been denied her for eight straight days would have been almost too much to bear. She hated needing him like this, craving the feel of him inside her, on top of her.

"...was enjoyable?"

Lauren tore her stare from his crotch, looking up at his definitely amused expression. Clearly amused, now. "Um, I'm sorry?"

Thomas chuckled now, striding to the bed and pulling the cream colored comforter down. "Did you enjoy the party?"

Flushing, she nodded rapidly. "Yes, thank you, it was so fun to hear the conductor talk about his experiences. Such a life!"

Looking at her bright smile, Thomas was startled to feel two things, tenderness at his bride's sweet, excited face and resentment that it not there because of him. Shoving down the odd feeling, he smiled blandly and let her finish describing her evening. "To bed now, darling," he urged, "we have so much to do tomorrow."

"Oh?" Lauren felt like she suddenly went on point, like one of those hunting dogs. A clue? A hint from Thomas? But he was already asleep when she returned from brushing her teeth. With a sigh, she curled around a pillow, knowing perfectly well she'd be wrapped around her dark and beautiful Sir in a tangle of arms and legs by the time they woke in the morning.

 

She felt a little more settled because Thomas woke her to run with him, he was amused at her sleepy whining to stay in bed and simply pulled her from her blanket nest anyway. Despite his comment the evening before about "So much to do," Number Two left the house with his Brunello Cucinelli briefcase without another word. Irritably swallowing some aspirin to tone down her hangover from the night before, Lauren practiced, feeling responsible and then went down for a salad and a bottle of wine. It was ironic, she mused, it was surprisingly easy to keep the huge house clean. Thomas was terrifyingly tidy and expected the same from her. Add in a grim Polish housekeeper who came twice a week to clean the house top to bottom while giving Lauren a mean-looking side eye, the place was perfection. Granted, she mused, pouring another glass of Conte Fini Pinot Grigio, there were certain rooms the intimidating Mrs. Kowalczyk did not enter. The basement. Lauren had tried almost daily to see if Thomas had somehow left that door unlocked, but no. His office, the woman cleaned even if she growled if the new Mrs. Pine tried to put a toe over the threshold. But not the room next to the master bedroom suite. Thinking back over her ill-advised agreement from the kink club, Lauren's glass froze halfway to her mouth. She'd agreed to all those ropes and spankings and buzzing toys, as long as they were alone. 

"Shiiit," she groaned. "He's got a sex dungeon. Oh, shit! Shit!" 

Suddenly frantic to find this terrifying lair and see what her wicked Sir had in mind for her, Lauren put down the wine and wiped her damp palms on her thin jersey dress. "Basement?" she mumbled, "That's a good place for a sex dungeon, right?" Naturally, the only door leading to the basement remained stubbornly locked. Absently trying a couple of other rooms, "Really, who needs four floors worth of rooms?" she mumbled crossly, the girl checked them all until she stood before the door of the chamber next to Thomas's bedroom. There was only the one door leading in or out, no attached entrance from the master suite. Nervously chewing on her lower lip, Lauren reached out a hand. "It'll be locked," she mumbled, "just like always but at least I checked, so-" The knob turned easily under her hand and the heavy door swung open.

At first glance, it was simply a beautiful guest bedroom. Slightly darker gray walls, heavy, elegant drapes drawn back from the floor to ceiling windows. A huge fireplace and the bed. A gigantic four poster bed made from carved black ironwood. "Olea capensis," Lauren mumbled, remembering Thomas telling her about an African tree species that was said to be nearly impossible to break because of it's iron-like durability. It looked like a normal, albeit huge and intimidating piece of furniture. The comforter was silk, a heavy burgundy and green brocade throw. Many pillows... she eyed them nervously. Some round, so different shapes that made her question their use. Walking closer, she could see the nearly hidden hooks seemingly everywhere- similar to the few Thomas had immobilized her from in his bedroom. There were crossbeams at the top, half covered by the elegant pale drapes. And, her lips twisted, a round, comfortable cushion on the floor on the left side, the side Thomas slept on. There was an antique trunk at the foot of the bed, Lauren reached out to open it, then pulled back her hand. She was this close to losing her nerve... A beautifully designed armoire in the same wood as the bed. An elegant leather couch in a weathered brown. Two large wingback chairs in the same leather but designed in a slightly different shape than usual. A long ottoman between them- at least five feet long. And two cabinets inset into the wall with antique iron latches. It looked like an elegantly designed bedroom, fit for a prince. But everything was just... slightly off. Perhaps it was her paranoia? But the room was the only one in Thomas's house with a thick, lush carpet underneath, rather than hardwood. Her steps were soundless in the thick plush. Looking up, Lauren could see more subtly placed hooks in the ceiling, and as her heart started pounding, others inset into the walls. Silently padding over to the windows, she pulled the heavy curtain back to see the windows were double paned, blocking out any sound from the distant traffic outside. And blocking any sounds made inside from reaching the street.

"Ah." Lauren froze in place, like a rabbit suddenly spotted by a hawk. "I see you've found my play room." Stiffly turning around, she found Thomas, still gorgeous and intimidating in his navy blue bespoke suit. His dark eyes were watching her closely, traveling in a leisurely way up and down her body and watching how his bride kept nervously wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dark pink dress. Straightening and walking inside the room, he paused for a moment as Lauren took a step back. "Are you afraid, little one?"

"Yes," she answered honestly, far past nervous and rapidly approaching terror.

"Hmmm..." he pondered, hands behind his back as he walked around her, leaning in to smell the luscious mixture of her fear and some arousal. "I have so been looking forward to introducing you to this room. Do you remember your promise to me in Copenhagen?"

"Wh- was that a promise?" Lauren managed. Why wasn't she running? She thought a little wildly, why wasn't she bolting from this room? Down the three flights of stairs and screaming out the front door?

Thomas laughed, a gorgeous sound in the room, thudding off the sound dampening walls. "I believe so, baby. And a good girl like you always keeps her promises, yes?" He could see her feet shift restlessly, could practically hear the thoughts shrieking in her head. "I know you're quite alarmed right now. But I believe part of you has been looking for this room for some time, haven't you?"

Lauren stilled. Had she? She knew Thomas kept all manner of secrets from her. But since introducing her into his private, dark acts, she'd felt oddly closer to him. Like... he trusted her enough to show these mysteries. To make her enjoy them. Thomas watched her pretty mouth try to shape words, try to explain or ask or whatever was still racing round that clever brain of hers. He'd always enjoyed her quick mind, how fast his lovely bride could leap to the right conclusion, given enough information. "I..." she paused, trying to think of what to say. "I knew there was... more with you. More here."

"Ah..." his tall form was circling her again, long, elegant fingers trailing across her bare arms, the thin skin of her neck and collarbones. "Such an intelligent girl. What did you think was behind this door?"

Her screech of nervous amusement was a little too high-pitched, bordering more on the edge of terror. "Blackbeard's wives?"

Thomas's laugh was genuine, and she stared a little resentfully at his sharp profile, the slash of his high cheekbones and those vivid ocean blue eyes closed as he enjoyed her admission. "No. No other wives. But I believe you will enjoy all the mysteries here, even if they frighten you." His warm hand was suddenly cupping her cheek, raising her face to look at his. "Have I always given you more pleasure in return for your pain?"

Her pink tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, "Yes."

"We will talk about the rules," he soothed, in the same calming tone he used on men he'd been torturing, interrogating, those finally broken enough to be grateful to tell him anything. "You will use your safe words if needed and they will be honored immediately. But I expect you to be brave. I know you are. If you are naughty or disobedient, I will punish you. It will not be as simple as a few swats on that juicy behind. You will know you were punished. You will feel it. You will not wish to be naughty or disobedient again. When we are in this room, I am your Sir. You are my submissive. Sometimes my slut. Sometimes my princess. Sometimes... my slave. And I can promise you..." Lauren swallowed back a whimper as he paused behind her, her tall husband's body pressing against hers, the heat of his cock throbbing eagerly against the small of her back. "I promise you that you will beg for more."

 

 

 ** _Cadenza_** : A point near the end of a movement in a work such as a concerto where the orchestra will stop playing and the soloist will perform an elaborate passage showing his or her virtuosity on the instrument.

 

 

From my dearest Archy 3001

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my ancestors from Scotland is Susannah Mehetabel Rogers, who was more or less sold into marriage at the age of 16 to a mysterious "diplomat" from Spain. He was much older and travelled a great deal, leaving her quite lonely. There was a room in their fancy house she was forbidden to EVER ENTER. But after bearing him three children, she was approached by Christian missionaries who convinced her to convert and bring her children to the New World. Susannah waited for her husband to return home from a trip, got him drunk and while he slept, passed out in their bed, lifted the keys from him with all the skill of a London pickpocket (that's what the documents say, I shit you not) and opened the door to the "forbidden room." Turns out husband dear was a spy for the German government, according to all the scary papers she found. But Susannah also found a big-ass chest full o' money. She took as much as she dared, gathered her kiddos and boarded the St. Mary for New York City. So... no wives hanging by their hair, but I've always loved that story of my great, great, great... uh... whatever grandmother.


	22. Yes, Sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas introduces his bride to the dark and murky delights of his "playroom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still at Burning Man, and trying to upload this from the middle of the desert- I biked out to the deep Playa to see if I can get a better connection. I hope it all makes sense. There's a naked man with a kazoo riding in circles around me. I don't mind the nudity, but the kazoo is really beginning to irritate me.

Burning Man. Epic pyramids but crap cell service.

 

 

 

For a few moments the room seemed utterly silent to Lauren, the only audible sound was her breathing, rapid, a little harsh. Thomas was staring down at her, quite at ease but shrewdly gauging her reaction. “Do you understand the rules, darling?” 

"Mmmmm, hmmm…” his bride managed, still frozen in place, eyes huge.

“You will need to speak when spoken to, little one,” he corrected her, tone cooler.

Lauren cleared her thrust. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

His cool expression cleared slightly, his polar blue eyes warming to a Mediterranean shade. “There's my good girl,” he approved, one big hand coming up to cup her cheek. His thumb slid along her throat, feeling his bride’s pulse speed up, her carotid artery throbbing. Stepping back, Thomas gestured at her cotton dress. “Take that off.” He seated himself in one of the wingback chairs, long legs spread with his usual arrogance. Lauren was still frozen in place, and she jumped a little when his beautiful voice deepened, enunciation sharper. “You will always answer ‘Yes, Sir’ when I give you an order in this room.”

Head bobbing like a marionette’s, Lauren raised her hand to the zipper of her dress. “Yes, Sir.”

Voice softening slightly, her dark husband asked, “Do you remember your safe words?”

“Yes, Sir,” Lauren’s voice was clearer this time. Idly crossing one leg over the other, Thomas was struck by his wife’s courage. Forced to marry a complete stranger- he knew he essentially kidnapped her into this union though he preferred to believe it was a positive turn of events for her- but to handle his terrifying lifestyle so well… Nervous eyes- the color of a lavender field- rose to his. In his careful analysis of all things Lauren, Thomas knew this meant she was anxious, frightened, but her long spine was straight, and after a nervous flutter of hands, they stayed clasped together. “Lovely girl…” that resonant voice was back to soothing again, and Thomas smiled approvingly. “Now your bra. Slowly.” Hands rising to obey him, Lauren cringed internally. She knew exactly nothing about undressing in a sexy manner and to be frank- in the past her scary husband usually had her clothes off before she knew what was happening. “Ah.” Lauren froze. Thomas was still seated, but the thin tip of a rattan cane was sliding up the skin of her abdomen. “Slowly. Look at me, no hiding.” When his bride unclasped her strap, the top of the cane slapped her left nipple sharply, the fabric doing little to lessen the sting.

"Ow! W-why-”

The cool, cultured drawl of Thomas’s voice interrupted her. “When I give you an instruction in this room, you always answer me with, ‘Yes, Sir,’ forgetting this again will merit a sharper correction.” Fuming internally, Lauren tried to keep her expression neutral. She failed, of course, the girl had no idea how open and expressive her features were. And for Thomas, she was the loveliest of open books. The tip of his cane smartly slapped the right nipple this time, a little harder, enjoying his bride’s yelp. “And no pouting, little girl.”

Gritting her teeth and clutching her bra Lauren nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Thomas settled back, tapping the cane on one polished shoe. “You may continue.”

“Yes, Sir…” she murmured and slid one strap, then the other down her toned arms and let the fabric slide off on to the carpet. Lauren was infuriated to see her nipples were already peaked, pink tips straining towards the dark, suited figure before her.

“Run your hands up your stomach, darling and over your breasts, cupping them.” That damnable cane was still resting on his leg, her husband’s gaze fixed on her.

“Yes, Sir.” Lauren was acutely uncomfortable. She didn't know what to expect when she found this room, but the girl assumed it would involve like… tying her up or something. But standing here in front of him, beginning to obey him was excruciating. And his half smile told her he knew it. But as her fingertips circled her nipples, palms cradling her breasts, Lauren was surprised to hear the little sigh escape her.

"Such a good girl,” Thomas said approvingly. “Now, put two fingers in your mouth, get them wet.”

Watching her obey him with a little puzzled frown, he was about to bring that cane down on the plump mound of her pussy when his clever bride hastily added, “Yes, Sir.” His cock was beginning to swell, Lauren could see it pressing against those well-tailored trousers of his, but Thomas ignored his erection, still focused on her.

“Run those long fingers of yours down to your knickers, slip them over your tender little pearl and stroke it.” He watched the red flush start on his innocent bride’s chest and rose up her neck and turning her cheeks crimson. “So shy…” he muses, pensively running his forefinger over his upper lip. “Come here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Another barely audible response, but Lauren obeyed him.

Putting two long fingers to her lips, Thomas ordered, “Suck these, little girl. Make them slick." That might have been a whimper as she opened her mouth, but his bride did as she was told, round, apprehensive eyes on his.

Plucking them from her mouth with an audible pop, he smiled devilishly as his fingers slipped down between the lace and her skin, running lightly- ‘Too lightly, damnit!’ she thought disjointedly- and slicked along her wet lips.

Lauren cringed when her terrible Sir chuckled. “And here I thought you might need some assistance, so shy and blushing. Only to find you quite sleek and wet all on your own, aren’t you, baby? Hmmm?” Thomas pushed harder on her slick center and she went up on tiptoe.

“Yes, Sir!” Lauren gulped. With a sudden movement, he had her on his lap, erection pressing into her back and her legs flung over his, splayed open, exposed.

Tucking his chin on her shoulder, Thomas nudged her. “Look down, baby. You're going to be doing this all on your own next time.” Watching his thick fingers sink into her made Lauren want to die of embarrassment and also greedily thrust her hips up at the same time, wanting to drive him deeper. “Now, every woman has her own secret places,” her diabolical Sir commented, “not found in some boring anatomy book. One must study the ways she moves-” Thomas pressed hard on one spot inside the girl and tapped her clit with his thumb. Lauren’s back snapped into a very satisfying arch and she let out a breathless shriek, trying to close her legs against his straying digits and held open all the same. She was tingling and if he would just touch her one more- “Ah, yes. So lovely and responsive,” Thomas approved, “and here’s another…” Two fingers drove ruthlessly up her channel and pressed hard, just under her cervix, putting his other warm hand over the spot from the outside.

“Oh, god-” Lauren choked, grabbing fistfuls of his suit jacket and burying her face in his neck.

To her consternation, he smoothly withdrew both hands and briskly slapped the top of her slit with two wet fingers, enjoying her pained yelp. “Not yet. Did your Sir give you permission to come?”

“No, but you-”

One big hand suddenly gripped her pussy hard enough to make Lauren reach down and grab his wrist, trying to pry him loose. “Remove your hand.”

A cold flush went down her spine, making the girl’s interest in her orgasm dissipate instantly. “Yes, Sir,” Lauren managed.

Thomas nuzzled tenderly against her neck, the gentle move at odds with his newly frigid tone. “For the rest of your time in this room today,” he not-quite snarled, “you will say only ‘yes, Sir’ or ‘no, Sir.’ Do you understand?”

Watching his hand raise threateningly over her flushed, swollen lips again, Lauren managed to get “Yes, Sir!” past the screech strangling in her throat.

Turning her face to his, Thomas gave her a sweet kiss. “There's my good girl. Now, off my lap, kneel on the cushion next to the bed.” He knew her hesitation was from fear, but a low growl got his darling up and moving. Opening the large chest next to her, he grinned, watching her eyes dart to the open lid and back again. The first thing he removed was a neatly coiled rope. Running a length of it down one stiffened nipple, Thomas spoke again, “Shibari rope, little one. No harsh fibers to scratch your pretty skin.” Suddenly it was wrapped over each shoulder and outlining both breasts tightly. “Put your hands behind you back, each hand holding your other arm.”

She was shaking as she did it, but Lauren obeyed, managing to whisper, “Y-yes, Sir.” She felt him smooth her hair, resting her cheek against the hard length of his cock, still fully dressed in his expensive suit.

“Such a good girl…” Thomas purred, his voice so deep she could feel it vibrate against her. “Spread your legs, sitting on your heels.” Another rapid looping motion had her arms bound in position, pushing her small breasts out quite shamelessly and then each thigh tied to the shin under it, effectively immobilizing her and keeping her on her widely spread knees. Hitching his trousers gracefully, Thomas knelt and rested on his heels, his expressionless gaze searching hers. “You know, darling, not being able to see what is being done to you, how I am playing with your lovely little body heightens the sensations, desperately trying to understand what is happening to you... it's utterly delicious to watch.” Lifting one hand, Thomas held up a vibrating wand. “But occasionally I do enjoy the look of shock on your innocent face.”

Helpless to move from her lewdly displayed position, Lauren could only watch this dark, deadly man who owned her begin stroking the wand over her center, dipping shallowly into her passage to slick up the buzzing torture device and move it up towards her hopeful clit, circling without touching it. “Oh…” it was an exhale of breath that was suddenly gasped back in when the wand pressed firmly against the little button.

Thomas felt his cock impossibly harden more, hearing his sweet girl’s little gasps and moans. “Does that feel good, baby?” he purred solicitously.

“Yes, Sir…” Lauren moaned, her hips unconsciously pushing forward, trying to get more pressure. Her eyes popped open as he pulled the wand away, gazing up at him reproachfully.  

His brows drew together and she was suddenly hiked off the cushion and on her back on the bed. “Pouting?” he said sternly, “Acting like a little brat? Your Sir is disappointed with you.” The cane was suddenly back and there were three red stripes on the inside of both her spread thighs, but Thomas counteracted the firery sting by putting his mouth over her pussy in an open mouthed kiss, slurping greedily. When he could feel her pulse against his tongue, he pulled away again, enjoying her choked-off groan of protest. “I can see I must assist you in being good,” he was his most terrifying Number Two, rising above her with a frown. Lifting her head, the man slipped a stretchy band over Lauren's eyes. “No more sulking, hmmm?” Next were two little vibrating, egg-shaped devices slipped inside her, makling his sweet little bride clench her hands into fists, determined not to beg. His warm mouth was suddenly on her left breast, gently toying with the soft skin while his fingers viciously pinched her right nipple, the combination painfully arousing, leaving Lauren confused but wildly turned on. Then his mouth and fingers switched sides and it began again.

This time as she started feeling the tremors that meant her sadistic Sir was about to bring her to orgasm, Lauren bit her lip harshly. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She wasn't going to beg him just so the horrible man could just edge her off again, she wasn't going to give HIM the satisfaction of- “Oh, god! Please, Sir!” This was cut off in a scream as the cane snapped another six blows in rapid succession on her ass. The vibration of the toys inside her intensified, counteracting the searing heat of the new strikes, turning her behind a dark rose.

“What phrases did I give you to use here, little one?”

Lauren didn't know whether to moan or cry. “Yes, Sir a-and AH!” Apparently there was a higher speed on those goddamn eggs. “And no, mmmmm… no, Sir.”

“Very good, remembering that will keep you from another caning.” But Thomas continued to torment her, playing with toys and his fingers and tongue, bringing her to the brink and taking her back down with another permutation of pain. After an hour- or twenty, maybe it was a week she was past knowing- Lauren was sobbing, it was at the point that becoming aroused was acutely uncomfortable, adding to the strikes and stings and swats on her sensitive parts. The goddamn rope her satanic spouse had bound her with tormenting her by rubbing against her breasts, between her legs. Thomas had removed the bindings holding her arms back and legs apart, only to put her on one of those leather chairs- she knew they were weird! The big comfy chair had nearly invisible bindings for her hands, and the leather footrest rose as the chair was angled back and split into two pieces- perfect for holding her legs wide apart again.

Thomas sat on the leather ottoman between her legs, currently smoothing his hands up and down her shaking legs and murmuring soothingly. Reaching up, he removed her blindfold. “Do you know why your Sir has kept you from your release for so long?”

Lauren’s teary eyes forcused on him. “I… no, Sir.” she managed, still sniffling.

“Two reasons, baby,” the feel of his big, warm hand still sliding up and down her spread thighs was oddly comforting, but she forced herself to focus. “First, you will learn how to control yourself, you will not orgasm until I've given you permission. I will help you until you can develop the discipline. Secondly…” Thomas’s beautiful face turned sly, knowing as his eyes narrowed and he bent closer to her swollen and sore pussy. “And secondly, I will teach you how you can experience pain at the same time as pleasure. How one can heighten the other.” Lauren moaned and almost started crying again as his dark head dipped to kiss her tenderly on her stubbornly swollen clitoris, apparently indifferent to the harsh treatment visited upon it. Thomas was still dressed for the office, perfectly put together while she was covered in marks, sweaty and her hair a snarled mess. And naked, something that always seemed so much more… acute when he was not. “Do you wish to come now, sweetest girl?” Her mouth was open, but Thomas could tell Lauren didn't know how to answer him after such a lengthy bout of edging. He pulled open his belt and unzipped. His cock was hugely hard, he'd borne the discomfort of no relief for the entire session as well, it made him feel closer to her misery, to understanding his pet. “I will make you come now baby, as many times as you like. Just say, ‘I beg you to allow me to come.’ And then thank me for your education today.”

THANK him? Lauren was rigidly furious. Thank him for everything she’d been put through? Her cruel Sir wasn't waiting for her required speech, putting the head of his cock at her entrance and circling it slowly. “This poor, tender cunt is trying to pull me in, darling,” he purred. “Be a good girl now. Beg…” he gave a little push, just barely breaching her with the thick head of his cock, “...me, and your Sir will make it all better.”

Lauren couldn’t think of a time she'd hated him more, but she stared at the gorgeous man who was currently torturing her with that wide, heavy cock. He'd made her love it. Crave it. And that need had her suddenly speaking rapidly, “Please Sir, I beg you to allow me to come!”

Thomas pushed his cock in halfway. She was so swollen from his various ways of tormenting her softest parts that she felt even tighter than usual, and he closed his eyes against the beauty of his bride’s gaze fixed on his and mouth open and gasping. “Such a good girl,” he smiled approvingly, circling his hips a bit and enjoying her moan. “Now, baby. Thank me for your instruction and I will fuck you senseless.” He enjoyed watching her struggle, not yet grateful, not understanding the dynamic he was creating for her. But she would. “Now, thank your Sir…”

Lauren's thighs were shaking and she felt herself rubbing against the thin line of hair leading down to his cock. Suddenly her feet were lifted and the crop delivered a sharp slap to the soles of both. Her corresponding shriek was quite satisfying, Thomas thought. Another sharp slap deliver to her pinked ass made his sweet girl blurt, “Thank you… thankyouformyinstruction! Sir!” With a satisfying push, Thomas seated himself inside her fully and enjoying the fluttering of all that soft tissue clutching his shaft. Waiting for Lauren's galloping heart rate to slow, he kissed along her neck, whispering filthy endearments until she was calm enough to begin sliding in and out. They watched each other, the girl with hopeful suspicion and he with dark intent. As his darling’s breathing became heavier, Thomas rubbed the coarse hair at the base of his cock against her. And as she began climbing the hill he’d been building for her- the one that guaranteed a sharp and wildly satisfying plunge into orgasm, he lightly bit her earlobe. “You may come, sweetness.” But just as she nearly fell over the edge, her diabolical Sir slapped her ass- hard.

Thomas groaned as she shrieked and jolted, her cunt clenching down on him in shock. “B- but you said-” Lauren was pulling mindlessly against her bonds, ready to cry again with frustration. Another slap. And shriek. Another tightening down on his thrusting cock.

“You may come, and I will help you come harder than ever…” Another slap on her fiery red ass. Another wail. Clenching down so tightly that Thomas’s cock stilled. “I will fuck you through the pain. You will come from both your need and your agony.” Lauren’s entire body felt painfully exposed, excruciatingly sensitive and each new strike on her ass hurt just as much. But her Sir’s generous cock driving up inside her was still hurtling her into orgasm, she could feel it looming, even as his hands still caused pain. Licking two fingers, Thomas began patting her clitoris, swirling his hips and burrowing inside her deeper. And as her feet began twitching and pointing, he smacked his broad palm on her abused ass and murmured in his deepest, most commanding tone, that lovely accent so persuasive. “We shall come together, sweetness. On the third strike of my hand."

"One.

Two.

Three.”

As as his hand landed for the final time, the flare of misery from her skin somehow setting off the orgasm he’d threatened her with. Lauren felt it burn through her cunt, her legs, up her spine and jolting back down in a white hot flash that hurt so fucking much but felt so powerfully good and she would take another three hundred slaps on her bruised ass to feel something so pleasurable that every muscle in her body was rigid but she didn't know that. All the girl knew was her beautiful, cruel, terrifying god gave her more and more waves of an orgasm so powerful that it tore through her. And Thomas groaned and continued thrusting into her spasming cunt, feeling it not so gently squeeze the come from him. The two cried out, shaking and groaning until the waves finally stopped crashing over them. Lauren dimly felt Thomas’s head lift from her shoulder, removing her bonds and gently massaging her wrists and ankles. “Such a very good, brave girl. Your Sir is so pleased with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely Sulk for explaining the immortal phrase "fucking me through the pain." I'd never heard it phrased like that, and it's genius.


	23. A Gift Of Jewelry From An Indulgent Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas gets Lauren a little something. A bauble. But it turns out to be a bit more... binding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I have an outline for this story- which for an ADD writer such as myself is a genuine shock. I promise only to update as quickly as I can. This Real Life shit is really getting annoying. Thank you for your patience and embracing this story the way you have. I truly appreciate you.

From the brilliant mind of The Left Hand, thank you!!

 

 

Lauren woke the next morning with no clear idea of how she'd gotten into Thomas's big bed (the one in his real bedroom, thank god, not the sex dungeon one) though she suspected that the fact she was nude proved it was all her husband's doing. When they'd both come down from their alarmingly lofty highs, panting and sticking together a little with sweat and entangled arms and legs, she was suddenly shivering, exhausted and a little teary-eyed. Her dark and beautiful Sir seemed to understand, wrapping her in a cashmere blanket and pouring her a glass of water, holding it to Lauren's lips when her shaking hands couldn't. Thomas seemed to enjoy soothing and petting her, gently stroking her sore arms and legs, wiping her wet center with a warm cloth and whispering to her of how lovely she was, so sweet... such a good, good girl. Lauren's brow wrinkled. Why did that feel so important to her, so rewarding? It was not a phrase she'd grown up hearing from her father, blessedly. She shuddered, that would have been the creepiest 'pingback' ever. But it felt so very good when Thomas whispered it to her in his deep, sonorous voice, purring his approval and enjoying how it made her shiver and moan.

It was early, she could tell by the dim light seeping through the curtains, but the space next to her in bed was empty. Suddenly ravenous, Lauren got out of bed and pulled on some running shorts and a tank top. Thomas may be a mysterious international gangster, but he was predictable at home. He'd be out running, correctly guessing that she was in no physical condition to be joining him. So she may as well make breakfast for them. But instead of turning left as she walked out of the bedroom to head downstairs, the girl found herself turning right and standing in front of the Sex Dungeon door. would it be locked again? Turning the knob, she was mildly surprised to find it opened easily, and she walked into the room, just a few steps but enough to see the bed where Thomas had made her scream so loud her throat still hurt. Looking around, she could see her terrifying husband had put everything away, leaving the room to look innocently elegant again. Unless, of course, one knew where to look... shivering as she looked at the nearly-hidden straps on the big leather chair where she'd been fucked senseless, Lauren didn't hear the silent tread of tall, beautiful man she'd married until he spoke into her ear.

"Pleasant memories, little girl?" Thomas grinned a little as her shiver turned into a full body shudder. He stood just behind her, so close that she could feel the heat pouring off his skin. When she tried to turn around, his hands came up to stroke her arms, keeping her where she was.

"I think so, Si- um, Tho- um..."

Enjoying her struggle just a but, Thomas leaned down and kissed her temple soothingly. “When we are outside of the room, you may call me Thomas again, unless we are playing." Kissing just under her ear and toying a bit with her soft earlobe, he bit it lightly. "And you will always be quite clear about when we are playing." Still soothingly stroking her arms, he waited a bit until her shaking died down. "How do you feel today?" This time, he turned her around to face him, his gaze running clinically over her her body, checking the bruises and marks from the cane.

As he expected, those pretty purple eyes darted away as his darling wife mumbled, “Um... ‘M fine...” And she shuddered again as Thomas ran his big, rough hands over her shoulders and arms until his fingers circled her wrists, drawing out the caress as he pulled against the tips of her fingers as he moved away.

“Look at your Sir.” As he expected, Lauren’s gaze instantly rose to his. “Tell me the truth.” She cringed. His pretty spouse actually cringed and Thomas unfairly enjoyed the excruciating red flush over her pale skin.

”I’m... uh...”

”Yes?” Thomas purred, now running the tip of his tongue along her jawline, “Tell your Sir and I’ll make it all better, baby. You were such a good girl for me last night.” He knew the sweet thing was dying internally right at that moment, but he couldn’t seem to stop enjoying himself. How did he ever end up in his magnificently appointed bedroom after a night of filthy carnal pleasure with a near BDSM virgin in his personal playroom who was married to him and enjoyed it- absolutely enjoyed it no matter how much she was limping this morning? And that it was so wildly satisfying that he would move heaven and earth to make it happen again as soon as his lovely girl stopped walking like he’d fucked her raw? For perhaps less than a second, his cold, analytical self reminded Thomas that Lauren, his lovely blonde, musician spouse was here because... he made her. And then he mentally shook his head and sucked her other earlobe into his mouth. “Tell me, sweetness. And I’ll make it all-“

Lauren curled inside herself. “It was amazing and I’m really sore and I might need a bit to not be... uh... sore but...” He was so beautiful, her terrible, perfect captor. He was smiling down at her fondly, but she could see the knowing leer in those cerulean eyes. Thomas knew what he’d done to her. He enjoyed it as much as she loved him doing it to her and she could pretend as long as she could that... There was no pretending. They were on a path now, as Mr and Mrs Thomas Pine, and no matter what she’d thought or expected, it was bliss. Forcing herself to look up and into his stare, “But I would do it again. I... uh... I want to. Um, more.” Didn’t she used to like, be articulate? Lauren wondered. 'Um... more?’That was the best she could do? She could tell Thomas was using a level of spectacular self control to keep from laughing, but aside from a twitch of his lips, her Sir maintained his composure.

"Excellent," he leaned in again, the warm scent of his sweat and something spicy that was simply her husband sifting through Lauren's senses. "Why don't you go make breakfast darling, while I change for work?" Brushing his lips up the pulse in her neck, Thomas nipped it lightly, enjoying her yelp. "And if you're my good girl, tonight I shall take you on a more... extensive tour of our playroom."

'Playroom?' Lauren couldn't possibly picture using a word as innocent and innocuous as 'playroom' to describe the murky and scary delights of Thomas's secret room. However she nodded and raised her head for his kiss, a warm, slow slant of his lips against hers and just a hint of tongue. When she sighed a little, that tongue slid inside her mouth, leisurely twisting with hers for a moment before releasing Lauren with a regretful little pat on the bottom.

"I must be quick, I have an early meeting today." Thomas's eyes were still scanning his wife with an almost alarming level of thoroughness, and not for the first time Lauren wondered if his uncanny awareness of everything around him translated into actually reading her mind, somehow. She wouldn't put it past him.

Down in the sunny kitchen, the girl was plating breakfast for them both and putting together some sliced fruit when those big, rough hands slid around her waist. This time, at least, Lauren managed not to jump, though she was embarrassed by her breathy little sigh. "Thank you, lovely," Thomas praised her. "This looks delicious." The two spent a companionable breakfast together, talking a little but mostly enjoying each other's company and Lauren's frittata. Finally pushing his plate away, Thomas leaned back, looking at her speculatively. "I have something for you," he finally said, taking her hand and helping her from her chair.

"Oh?" Lauren managed, smiling up at him.

"Lift your arms, baby."

Frowning a little in confusion, she did as she was told, feeling him fingers stroke along the sliver of skin showing between her shirt and running shorts before Thomas pulled her shirt over her head. With the same quick, sure movements, he'd divested her of her bottoms. Standing before her fully dressed Sir in her underwear, Lauren awkwardly raised her arms, not quite sure what she wanted to cover but feeling bare.

"Ah, ah. No hiding from me, you're too beautiful to cover up," he was smiling down at her, but there was a certain glint in his eye that made the girl nervous. Pulling something from his jacket pocket, Thomas held it up to the light. "I want you to wear this for me today."

Remembering the extreme discomfort of the last time he'd "Wanted her to wear something," Lauren's brow furrowed. But examining the item made her relax a bit. It was by no means as constrictive as that goddamned corset had been. Touching the shimmering silver chain with one finger, she asked, "Is this a necklace?" It looked too long for that, and the clasps were different than the ones on a regular piece of jewelry.

"Not exactly," Thomas was already slipping the chain over her head, sliding two strands down under her arms and crossing her breasts, loosening her bra to lay the metal flush against her skin. Running one hand down her stomach, he knelt and looped the last two silver links between her legs and drew them up the line of her ass, clicking them closed at the small of her back, then doing the same with the chains crossing her breasts and around her neck, fastening them into one silver strand that ran down her spine and with a last, quick jerk linked the entire series together.

Lauren flushed. She'd spoken too soon about this not being constrictive.

Her dark husband made an approving noise, running his hands up and down her bound body, sliding a finger under the chain links to make sure they weren't tight enough to mark her skin. Lauren was frozen, not sure how to move without pulling the chain tighter across some sensitive portion of her body. "Beautiful," Thomas praised, stepping back to appreciate how the sunlight streaming into the kitchen glimmered along the silver metal binding his precious, innocent girl. "Walk for me, darling."

"W-what?" Lauren was trying to concentrate, but the strange pull and slip of the slim chain locked on her was making it difficult. When he made a twirling motion with his finger, she shyly walked across the stone tiles of the kitchen, then turned and came back.

Thomas groaned inwardly. There it was again... the push and pull inside his innocent bride, her natural grace and her equally inherent shyness fighting against each other. And even though Lauren was clearly unnerved by how the chain felt, he could see by the rising flush on her pale cheeks and how her breath was coming just a bit faster, that she was beginning to enjoy it. Circling her, his breath against her neck, he growled just slightly into her ear, enjoying how her eyes fluttered closed. "Beautiful, my lovely girl. I knew you would be an exquisite frame for this jewelry."

"Jewelry?" she chuckled a little breathlessly, "Isn't a gift of jewelry like... a new bracelet, maybe some earrings? This chain. It's... tight. It's pulling against me."

His beautiful face instantly appeared solicitous, concerned. "Where, darling? Is it uncomfortable?" Thomas smothered a grin as Lauren shrugged a little, clearly embarrassed. Long fingers slipped under the length of silver binding one breast, giving it a sharp tug. "Here?"

His reward was a long hiss of air, sucked in by the girl's desperate lungs.

"Hmmm..." Thomas mused, "perhaps here?" Another yank nearly put Lauren on her toes as it slipped the links between the globes of her bottom. "Or maybe..." he paused, watching her reactions, small breasts heaving as she shifted her feet anxiously. His warm palm smoothed down her stomach, and her uncertain gaze rose to his as her Sir's treacherous digits moved under the chain just above her pelvis. "Here?"

"AH! Oh, GOD..." Lauren rose up on her toes, grabbing blindly at his suited shoulder as the cold metal yanked harshly against her clit, pulling deep against her soft lower lips and making every muscle in her lower half clench. He was barely touching her, this damnably beautiful man, and she was this close to coming again, no matter that she was so sore it felt like her battered insides were on fire from the new coating of arousal.

Drawing in a luxurious breath, enjoying the sudden scent of her perfuming the air, Thomas gently stroked his fingers across her belly. "This is what I require from you, little girl. I know you would be in extreme discomfort if you tried to take a run today. But you have a charity meeting at noon, correct?"

"Mmmm, hmmm?" Lauren tried to not whimper, but it came out as more of a weak gurgle.

"Very good. Why don't you get dressed, and after your meeting, meet me at my office? I'll have lunch brought in."

He was smiling in that curious, calculating way, making the girl feel anxious, off-balance. Wetting her lips, Lauren asked, "How long do I wear-"

Thomas cut her off, saying exactly what she expected and feared. "Until I take it off you."

 

"So according to the projections from the fall fundraiser, it looks like we're ahead of contributions so far from..." Shifting in what she hoped was a discreet fashion, Lauren tried to find a comfortable position where this torture device locked on her by her evil Sir would not pull against her clitoris, or ride up her ass, or pull on one breast or the other-

"Lauren?"

She froze, looking up to see Arabella staring at her meaningfully. "Um, yes?"

Number One's wife was clearly amused, but she calmly replied, "Ryan here would like to know if you'd prefer to place the current contributions into the awareness campaign in the local schools or into the Gala budget?"

Trying to concentrate, Lauren replied, "Into the school campaign, please. It doesn't matter what we raise if the school administrators don't know there's availability." She could tell with a quick glance around that some of the other members weren't happy with her opinion.

"If we don't have enough to fill the food budget," one woman said- a Patricia something dash something?- Lauren thought vaguely, "we can't sign Gustaf as our celebrity chef. He's very expensive and he books out six months in advance."

Maybe it was just the infuriating, endless stimulation of that fucking chain- there she was again, Lauren thought dismally, again with the "f" word- that fucking chain but her patience was limited. "If he's that expensive, why are we signing him on?" she said, straining for politeness. "Doesn't it seem counterproductive to spend all that money on a chef when it should be going to the schools?" Looking around her, the new Mrs Pine could see either indifference or confusion. Did these people actually care whether they raised any money or not? Raising her chin stubbornly, she insisted again, "People will come no matter what we offer," Lauren felt a new emotion- cynicism- rise in her gut. "It's the Corporation. Of course they'll come."

There was a dead silence around the table for a moment, everyone acutely aware of what she meant.

"Then it's settled," Arabella broke the silence with the brisk snap of her papers being straightened and put back into their folder. "I think we're done here for today."

 

"Who are you and what have you done with Lauren Pine?"

"Hmmm?" the girl turned to see Number One's blonde spouse grinning at her.

"You heard me," Arabella linked arms with her as they walked towards the bank of lifts that went to the top floor of the Corporation headquarters. "You were so forceful today, allocating funds as if we were really a proper charity!" she laughed a little loudly, and Lauren realized her friend was already day-drinking.

Brow furrowed, she pushed the button for floor 50, aware that Chuck and Arabella's "minder" were right behind them. The last thing either of them needed was their bodyguards raising "concern" about her friend's "chattiness." "Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing?" Lauren asked, before hastily correcting herself, "I just thought the Gutaf idea was a little spendy, you know?"

"Oh, agreed," Arabella said lazily, leaning against the railing in the paneled wood interior of the lift. "Just nice to see you speak out, dearie. So confident. It seems being married to the terrifying Thomas Pine agrees with you."

Excruciatingly aware that Chuck was right behind her and feeling like she was on a date with her father in the car, Lauren chuckled weakly. "Well, you know..." she just barely stopped herself from scratching a persistent itch between her breasts where the chain crossed over, pulling tighter on her poor, bound girls every time she shrugged. Fortunately, the doors opened and she nearly bounded from the confines of the lift, aware with a certain irony that it was the first time she was actually happy to be on the floor where her father had been shot in the leg.

 

Thomas's assistant was not happy to see her, but the girl formed a painful facsimile of a smile when she approached. "Hello, Mrs Pine," she managed, "I'll just let Mr Pine know you're here." For a moment, Lauren nodded obediently and was about to take a seat when the cursed links of the chain pulled against her ass again.

"Is he with someone?" she inquired abruptly.

The assistant's smooth brow furrowed. "No."

"Is Thomas on the phone?" Lauren persisted.

Hand hovering over the speaker to let her boss know his wife was in the lobby, the girl's eyes narrowed. "No."

Smiling pleasantly, Lauren moved to Thomas's door. "Then I'll just go in. Thank you."

She could almost hear the assistant's teeth grinding as the brunette managed to hiss, "Well, he's-"

"Hi, Thomas, are you ready for lunch?" was all the girl heard as Lauren shut the door between her husband's office and the assistant's with a decisive snap.

Cobalt eyes rose to hers, a knowing smile already on her unfairly attractive spouse's face. "Why, yes darling. Did Brandi let you in?"

"Brandi?" Lauren smiled, just a little spitefully. "Does she spell that with an 'I,' or an 'ie' or a 'y?' Or with a heart over the 'I' instead of a dot?"

Her husband's expression was urbane amusement. "Now, darling. Retract those claws. You've been such a good girl today. Tell me about the meeting."

So, she did, seated comfortably on the big leather couch in a masculine dark brown, legs thrown over her husband's lap as they ate. Thomas watched with amusement as his sweet wife absently scratched against the binding length of the finely crafted chain wrapped around her body. "...And they wanted to spend ten thousand pounds on getting Chef Gustaf!" Lauren was slightly outraged, "And that doesn't include the food costs, just booking him!"

Thomas was mildly rattled to feel an sweep of tenderness, watching the outraged expression on his bride's face. "Then it sounds like you made the correct decision, darling. Good for you." Lauren flushed with a pleased little smile, as she always did now when he complimented her. He could feel the tenderness devolve into heat as his gaze swept her body, knowing where the chain would be pulling against her flesh. "And how do you feel, lovely?" 

Stilled with a tart halfway to her mouth- the girl had never met someone as fond of sweets as she was until discovering her husband's weakness- Lauren answered cautiously. "Fine?"

"Is that a question or an answer?" her husband asked mildly, eyes focused on where his fingers were travelling.

It was that _feeling_ again, she thought distractedly, the insane balancing act of wondering what the beautiful and alarming Mr Pine wanted from her. If she said truthfully that she'd been half-aroused all day, would he help her? Or would the ruthless Number Two of Jaguar Holdings simply torture her until they went home? Or worse, dragged it out before giving her what she desperately needed? Lauren had always thought of herself as a sensual creature, but her intimate moments with her intimidating spouse had turned her into something needy, greedy even for what he could give her. "Both?" Lauren finally offered.

Thomas chuckled in a distinctively non-comforting way. "My poor darling. Let your Sir help you." Before she could blink, Lauren was suddenly naked and on her back, eyes wide and staring up at the predatory countenance of her spouse. "So sweet..." he soothed, trailing two rough fingertips against the sensitive lips guarding her center, stroking over them until they were wet and shiny, circling them over her- at this point- perpetually swollen clitoris, and she gave a little relieved moan. His warm mouth descended on her pussy, lapping and licking like a cat ('An apt metaphor,') Lauren thought, dazed. His horridly agile tongue teased against the cruel grip of the chain binding her center. When her lips began to swell with blood, the links were situated to pull them apart, leaving her vulnerable and open to Thomas's mouth and his greedy gaze.

"Oh," she groaned, "oh, Sir- please don't- I'm so sore but I miss you and I need-"

"I know, babygirl," Thomas soothed, "your Sir knows what you need." His hand slid to her back, releasing the part of the chain bracketing her now red and chafed pelvis, enjoying her little groan of relief. "Here, come slide against me, make yourself feel better."

Lauren was too far gone to even resent his fondly indulgent tone as her wicked Sir unzipped his trousers, rigid cock flat against his belly. Lifting her over him, Thomas settled her against the heated weight of him, already slick from her essence and his. "Oh..." she moaned in relief, feeling the first stirrings of her orgasm beginning to curl in her wet center. Then, his hot mouth was against one breast as a calloused hand played with the other, his hand on her hip pushing her into a carnal slip and slide over his sleek cock.

"Poor baby," he soothed, his husky, deep growl making Lauren's skin flush, making her feel like she was on fire. His elocution, Thomas's purring growl in his filthy, precise "I went to Cambridge" accent always crushed any resistance. "I know you must be uncomfortable. All that rubbing and pulling against these sweet, tasty delicate bits, eh?" She whimpered, trying to swallow the needy little sound back down her throat but he heard her, the hand on her hip moving her a little faster. "That's all right, darling. Your Sir will take care of you..." pushing hard against her lower back, Thomas made her arch against him, which made the chain surrounding her breasts pull harshly and her wet, painfully sensitive pussy press down against that thick chunk of meat rising to meet her. "Rub against me now, your Sir will make you feel so much better."

For the life of her, the girl could not understand how her inhibitions could fall so easily, her moans and cries echoing around the expansive office as she begged her Sir to take away the ache, make her not itch and be uncomfortable. And after making her ask politely, Thomas did just that, yanking cruelly on the rest of her silver chains and pushing up against the wet, swollen lips of her pussy and coming as she did, making them both dirty, deliciously wet and spent. Lauren collapsed on top of Thomas, feeling one big hand gently cup the back of her hair.

"Now, don't you feel better, my sweet girl?" he soothed.

Lauren just managed to feel the stickiness between them, the sultry smell of her husband's expensive cologne and the tight- but just perfectly tight- feeling of his arms wrapped around her as she lay shivering against him. Trying to form a full sentence in her head, she managed, "Yes, Sir... thank you!" as she suddenly surged into her second, aggressive orgasm, on fire from the heat surging through her wet, exhausted center.

 

Still stroking her hair and gazing out the huge window beside them, Thomas finally stirred and asked, "Sweetness, can you stand? I'll tidy you up-" realizing his tender spouse had actually lost consciousness, he sharply looked at her before realizing her half smile and calm breathing meant his perfect, luscious, delectable discovery had indeed fainted, in the most pleasant way possible. Looking out the window again as he continued to run his fingers through her silky curls, Thomas's brow furrowed as he questioned himself. How could such a lovely, sweet creature land into his lap at just the right moment? The mathematical mind of the ever calculating Number Two didn't believe in good fortune, or in luck. But to have this perfect girl quite literally arrive at just the perfect moment? Thomas watched the sun set through his magnificent corner office, barely allowing himself to believe that perhaps even one sunk as low as himself could be granted good fortune.

 

The "Cock of Arms" from the inspiration of Candy-Flaps and the artistry of Archy 3001


	24. Food and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren has a Girl's Night. Which turns out badly. Of course. Because that happens a lot as a Corporation Wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t think I was particularly hungry when I wrote this. But apparently Lauren and Thomas are ravenous.

 

From the beautiful brain of [TheLeftHand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLeftHand/pseuds/TheLeftHand)

 

"Just one or two days without the Corporation fucking everything up," thought Lauren long after. "Just a couple of days. Was it really too much to ask?"

When one is the spouse of the terrifying Number Two from Jaguar Holdings, apparently so.

 

Lauren was humming a strain from Debussy's _Nocturnes_ , smiling in a vaguely loose-lipped fashion that in no way imbued her youthful countenance with any dignity as she gathered up her sheet music after practice a few days later. She was fairly certain she would be walking bowlegged for the rest of her life, because Thomas couldn't leave her alone long enough to heal up, and if he'd tried, she wouldn't have let him. They didn't go into Thomas's "Fun Dungeon" every night, (the name she'd settled on when Sex Dungeon sounded too grim and her husband's term "Play Room" was just ridiculous.) Lauren was young, very healthy and possessed a delightfully sturdy constitution, but given all the delightfully dark and sordid things Thomas did to her in there as her Sir, she wasn't certain she'd survive the week. But the very discovery of the room and all it's alarming... accessories and her willingness to submit turned their heated sex life into an inferno. Just the night before, Thomas had blindfolded her, seating her gently into a swing that spread her legs wide and tied her wrists to the armrests, using the swing's ability to twist and turn in any direction to torment her into a series of orgasms after seating himself between her knees and snacking on her center like he'd not eaten for a week. And then pulling out his cock and bouncing her up and down like that... really, it was too-

"How've you been?"

Yanked out of her salacious meanderings, Lauren looked up, flushing as she focused on the slightly amused face of her friend. "I'm good," she managed, "how are you, Macie? I love that new sweater." Macie forced a smile in return, which made Lauren a little sad. But at least her (former) best friend was talking to her. 

"It's been a really long time," the girl finally managed, "I thought we could have lunch? There's a killer kebab place I found a couple of streets over."

Lauren instantly wanted to blurt, "Yes! Hell, yes!" It had been so long since she and Macie spoke, since her (former) best friend could look at her with anything other than hurt or disgust. But... what did lunch mean in her scary, uncertain new universe? Would a simple lunch expose Macie to any danger? Any scrutiny? Half of her stood back and shook her head in disbelief that she found herself in a place in her life where considerations such as grabbing a kebab with her (former) best friend could mean life or death. 'It's just a kebab,' she scolded her sensible half, 'no one's dying over a kebab!' Looking up, Lauren smiled more naturally, "I'd love that."

Two lamb kebabs in with a mess of rice and lemon sauce, the girls kept wiping their greasy fingers and giggling. Lauren marveled that after a few uncomfortable sentences she and Macie were chatting away again as if the past few months had never happened, feeling just as close as they had, flying into Heathrow airport and ready to begin their new lives as Professional Musicians.

"...so this wanker looked down my sweater and said 'I wanna slap those baps,' and it took me a minute to realize the son of a bitch was talking about my boobs!" Macie was waving her stick of oily lamb and laughing over the encounter. "First, I wanted to throw my beer in his face- but it was a really good beer, you know, and then I was slightly impressed because he got his shitty pickup line to actually rhyme, so that was good..."

"So what did you do?" Lauren prompted.

Macie shrugged. "I threw _his_ beer in his face." The two girls were silent for a moment before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Lauren was giddy with the relief and the sheer joy of being with her best (perhaps still?) friend again. Finally, their laughter turned into wheezing, which turned into comfortable silence as they finished their lunch. Walking slowly back to the practice hall, Lauren smiled as her friend carelessly linked their arms together, the way they used to. "So, you ever get a night off from being Mrs. Thomas Pine?"

Lauren's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Macie drawled, "could we have a girl's night? Maybe Friday or Saturday? We could hang out at my place and eat crap food- I bought Flaming Hot Cheetos off Amazon.com! And maybe watch 'Pretty in Pink' again."

Sniffling a little, Lauren said, "Remember when she took the thrift store dress and made it amazing and then they were making out in the parking lot by his BMW because he really loved her?"

"Yeah," Macie agreed, a little weepily, "I love that scene."

Lauren was torn. Thomas had made it clear that Corporation Wives only hung out with Other Corporation Wives, but... he didn't trust Arabella either. What could it harm to just have one evening? Nothing big. Just two members of the same orchestra having a girl's night?

Her voice a little harder, Macie persisted. "Just one night. Does he let you off the leash ever?" She realized her mistake when Lauren stopped, staring at her angrily. "Shit, girl... I didn't mean... not like that. I just wanted to see you, I guess."

Sighing, Lauren rubbed her forehead. "I'd like to hang out, too. But don't be mean, all right? Thomas is really sweet to me." She could tell by the blank expression on her (probably former) best friend's face that Macie did not get it, but she persisted. "He _is._ Thomas is. I think I could do Friday, can I text you tonight?"

Macie made an agreeing sort of noise, looking behind them at Chuck, who was following them at a discreet distance. "Do you think you could leave your boy back there at home for one evening?"

Startled into laughing, Lauren gave her a little shove with her shoulder. "Chuck is super charming, dude. You would be blessed to witness that man's charm."

 

Thomas had arrived home a little early that day, so he was pulling off his tie by the time Lauren walked through the door. "Ah, there you are, lovely. I want to take you out for dinner tonight. Nora's, across the park. They have magnificent American food." 

Still thinking about Macie actually shipping Flaming Hot Cheetos from the states made Lauren smile. If only Thomas knew what real American food could entail... "Thank you," she answered, "I would love that."

 

Sitting across from her beautiful husband and enjoying a rare warm evening that allowed them to eat out on the little patio behind the restaurant, Lauren circled mentally around how to ask for permission for her girl's night. In the rare times she'd ever thought about being married, the girl had always assumed that she and her spouse would both have outside interests, other friends that would enrich their lives and give them new things to talk about and keep them from being the Boring Couple That Did Everything Together Because They Were Surgically Attached At The Hip. The reality of her unusual marriage and knowing she would have to ask for permission to see Macie surprised her and made her a little sad.

"Lauren? Come back to me, darling."

Looking up from her pork chop sandwich, she flushed, "Sorry, Thomas. I was just thinking about Macie. You know, the girl who attended Julliard with me? We were in the-" Lauren stumbled a little, thinking about her abrupt departure from the quartet, "we played in the quartet together?"

Thomas had pushed his plate away and was giving her his full attention, toying with the stem of his wine glass. "Yes?"

"She invited me over for a junk food feast on Friday at her flat." Lauren was sweating- 'Why am I sweating?' she thought crossly, and gave him a hopeful smile. "You mentioned having a late meeting that night, so I thought maybe I could... hang out with her? If you don't mind?" 'Stop talking!' she scolded herself. "Unless you've got something you need me to do, or-"

"That's fine." Thomas was back to cutting into his ribeye and gave her a distracted smile. "No need for you to sit at home."

Lauren's jaw dropped at his instant capitulation, but she recovered quickly. "Thank you, that would be great." Hastily changing the subject before he could change his mind, she felt a little warmth in her chest. An evening with a friend.

 

And at first, it was wonderful, everything Lauren had hoped for: vile junk food from the states, like the aforementioned Cheetos, beef jerky and Twinkies. "Mmmm..." she sighed rapturously, "why is it the rest of the world does not understand the sacred nature of Twinkies? They should be grateful that they have a never-ending shelf life!"

"Right?" Macie said thickly through a mouthful of Cheetos, which were staining her mouth orange, "They have no idea what they're missing."

There was a selection of cheesy '80's movies and Lauren began to feel that frozen part in the center of her start to unthaw just a bit- the part that kept her upright, alert, cautious. It was so nice to be with Macie again, the girl who'd let her sleep on her couch when her dad threw her out and she still had a month before the dorms opened up. The girl she'd nursed back to health after constant alcohol binges and even went to Macie's first few AA meetings with her because she was scared to go alone. Remembering those AA meetings, Lauren squirmed uncomfortably. She'd been longing for a glass (bottle) of wine all night and of course, there was no alcohol here. 'I'm missing the wine too much,' she thought briefly before starting the next movie. 

It was halfway through "Grosse Pointe Blank" when Macie rose, returning to the couch with a folder and a determined expression on her face. Lauren's heart sank. She knew that expression, the one that meant her bull-headed friend had something to say, and there was no stopping her, by god, until Macie had _said_ it.

"Lauren." She seated herself on the lumpy couch next to the suddenly miserable girl next to her, turning to face her, knees touching. "I've been doing some research, and-"

'Oh, fuck!' Lauren screamed internally, looking at the folder. Of course the concept of what Jaguar Holdings might include was there for anyone determined enough to dig for it, no matter how many politicians, celebrities and the wealthy flocked to Corporation events. Power was more magnetic than distrust. 'Don't, Macie,' she pleaded internally, 'please don't-'

"-you have to know there's something wrong there," the girl was saying and Lauren forced herself to pay attention. "There's so much here, honey, just look-" Macie proffered a pile of copies from news stories. "These guys are sick fuckers, and I _know_ you," putting her hand on Lauren's knee, she didn't quite recognize that her friend was stiffening under her hand, "I know you know it! Why are you married to this guy? He's a murderer!"

The vision of Thomas calmly shooting a gun out the back window of the Jaguar while she steering surged up, and Lauren pressed a hand against her mouth to keep back a hysterical little titter. That would not be helpful here. "Maze, you have to stop. You have to shut up now before you say another word." Of course, Macie's mouth immediately opened and Lauren grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. "Listen. To. Me," she enunciated sharply. "Not another word. You never speak of this again, not ever. We burn these papers and you erase the history on your laptop-"

"But, Lauren, you're not-"

"MACIE!" Lauren shook, with frustration that her well-intentioned friend was not paying attention, suddenly terrified for her well-being, angry that Macie could just not _leave it the fuck alone_. "You have to fucking listen to me! You can't talk about this ever again. Not to anyone, do you hear me?"

"Oh, I already have," Macie interrupted earnestly, big, brown eyes so sincere, "a police investigator from the local precinct, he-"

Lauren shot up abruptly, backing away in horror. Macie was going to die. She was probably going to die, too, but that still wasn't as horrifying as knowing she'd just killed her best friend. "You have no fucking idea what you've done, Maze," she managed to whisper, "call this guy, tell him you were wrong. Don't ever speak to him again. Don't ever speak to me again. You can't imagine- Jesus, please fucking listen to me! Get rid of anything you've investigated."

Her friend, her good-hearted friend who always stood up for her, yelled back. "You're married to a fucking murderer, an arms dealer, probably human trafficking and all kinds of sick shit and that's all you can say? Lauren honey, what-"

Gathering up her jacket and messenger bag, Lauren began frantically stuffing her items back into her, texting Chuck with one hand to come pick her up. Turning back to look at Macie, who was clearly shocked and now had disappointment crossing that pretty face, she blinked back tears. "I'm trying to keep you alive, Maze. Never fucking talk to me again. I'm trying to- just don't. Drop this now. Never talk about it again." Without waiting for a response, she fumbled with the locks on the door, struggling to get out and slam the door behind her. On the stairwell, she paused for a moment to press her hands- hard- against her welling eyes. It hurt and made her stop crying. She had to look normal. Chuck had fucking eyes like a hawk and he'd hone in on emotion like she was a trembling rabbit.

"A good evening, Miss Lauren?"

She stretched ostentatiously, yawning as she got in the back seat. "Yeah, Chuck, junk food heaven, thanks."

 

She'd not been home long by the time Thomas returned from his meetings, but Lauren was three glasses of wine in and just beginning to think she could face her husband without bursting into terrified sobs. She was pouring the fourth glass with a shaking hand when she heard the Voice. 

"Lauren... little girl, your Sir is home... where are you, lovely?" Thomas's deep voice purred, it soothed and aroused her at the same time. It was the tone that told Lauren that her Sir was ready to play.

Hastily smoothing her hair and making sure her mascara wasn't smeared, she attempted to walk sensually through the great room to where Thomas was pulling off his jacket and tie. "Hello, Sir," Lauren lowered her voice, trying to sound as compelling as her dark spouse.

Thomas looked up, fine lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled, cobalt gaze sweeping up and down her body. "Hello, baby. Did you have a good time tonight?"

Forcing herself to shrug casually, Lauren held up a glass. "Can I make you a drink?" At his nod, she gritted her teeth, focusing on pouring the scotch without her hand shaking and spilling it. "It was okay... it's just. I dunno, it seems like we don't really have anything to talk about anymore. We're different people, not much in common, you know?"

"Hmmm..." Thomas took the glass from her, kissing her hand lingeringly. "A pity. But it happens. Once you don't have school in common, it can be hard to keep in touch."

Lauren nodded rapidly, acutely aware that his tongue was sliding between his lips on her skin, the tip stroking across nerve endings and setting them sparking. "You're right. It's just a shame, she was my only friend from home, here." She didn't think her voice broke, but Thomas looked up from her hand. Pulling her closer, he set down his drink, an arm going around her waist, the other caressing the back of her neck.

Leaning down so closely that she could see the bits of emerald swirling in the sea of his eyes, Thomas spoke slowly, carefully. "I would very much like to hear you call here, 'home.' This is your home now, Lauren." His expression softened at her expression of surprise, followed by Lauren’s traditional shyness and a sudden, hopeful smile. 

"That would be..." she paused for a moment, how to answer this sweetly-issued request as a Crime Lord's captive bride? But it wasn't exactly captivity when she'd settled happily into her cage, now was it? And this beautiful, confusing, often terrifying man had been so very good to her. Most of the time. "It would be nice to have a real home. I haven't had one really, not since my mom died."

There was the oddest moment then, where Thomas's usual expression of urbane amusement shifted into sorrow, tenderness, perhaps even regret. Placing a big hand on each cheek, he gently cupped her face and drew her mouth to his in the most exquisite of kisses, lips shifting and sliding against each other, soft swipes of tongue while his thumbs caressed her cheekbones. Moving his mouth to her ear, Thomas whispered, "Welcome home."

Lauren pulled him closer by his dress shirt, grabbing handfuls of starched cotton to press against him, kissing him a little needily, sliding her arms around his back and hugging him. Her eyelashes fluttered at his soothing endearments, whispered into her ear as he slid his hands to her bottom and lifted her, grunting as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. Carrying her up the stairs and to their bedroom- 'How does he do that without even breaking a sweat?' Lauren marveled as always. She knew she was not light. She was compact. Sturdy. Not willowy. But nonetheless, she was on her back and stripped of her pretty jersey dress in moments, Thomas licking and nibbling each nipple as he divested her of her bra and then she watched his dark head move down her abdomen and- move past her hopefully moistening center and kissing and running his tongue along the inside of each thigh, sucking the thin skin there and mottling it with little bruises and red marks. Lauren's long fingers slid into his hair, trying to gently direct him upwards and raising her pelvis a little. Thomas's teeth suddenly bit into her knickers, making her jump a little as he snarled playfully.

"Ah, ah," Thomas growled, "you do not direct your Sir. Now be a good girl and be still." Drawing her undies off, still gripped in his mouth, he tossed them to the side and bared those white, even teeth at her. She'd always been amused at his perfect orthodontia, so not the British standard. Cringing a little, Lauren watched him snap them at her as he headed towards her swelling lips. 

When he took one of them between his teeth and bit down a bit harder than was comfortable, she squealed, "Oh! Oh my god, Sir please don't-" Lauren broke off in a moan as Thomas growled, shaking her soft bit of flesh and worrying it like a dog with a bone. From then on, it was teeth. Lips. Tongue. And more teeth as Thomas nipped all her soft and private parts just a bit past painful. Each chomp into her delicate tissue sent her nerves spiking, making Lauren's legs twitch and tremble, her abdomen heaving as her beautiful and cruel Sir bit, sucked and nibbled her skin, biting the underside of each breast. The pain there made Lauren actually scream in shock. Her entire body stiffened as he sucked and licked at each bite mark. His teeth against the soft tissue of her breasts- it was unthinkably painfully, but a strange, stubborn warmth grew from each bite mark, making her nipples peak. This time, his teeth slid up her neck and bit her jawline, just under her ear. Hard.

"Ow! That hurts! It's-"

”Unbearable?” Thomas running his teeth over the soft apples of her cheeks, then abruptly flipped Lauren over onto her stomach, pinning her between his knees, hovering over her, warm skin separated by a scant inch of air. “You are delicious, my bride. There are times I want to devour you. Eat. You. Up.” He punctuated the last with three sharp bites along her shoulders and then biting into the back of her neck, like ‘The tiger in the zoo...’ the vision of that creature mating fiercely with his quivering mate sending Lauren in a shuddering moan.  “You have no idea the unbearable temptation you pose, little girl,” the Voice, that low purr turning into a growl, “all this soft skin? The sweet weight of your breasts? It makes my jaw ache.”

Lauren was beyond thought and only capable of reaction, feeling the electrical jolt of each painful bite, dulling into a low throb. His compelling, sonorous whispers made her whine helplessly, unsure whether to pull away from her Sir or push her sore neck deeper against his jaw. She didn’t realize until his thick cock was already sliding up and into her, the pull and stretch against the invasion of him merging into the pain and sharp arousal. “Sir...” It was barely a whisper from her, too far gone to know to ask for.

He seemed to know that, and Thomas chuckled low in his throat as he rocked her with an especially hard thrust. “I’m going to tell you what to do now, baby.” He watched her knuckles clenched white against the pillow. His knees spread her wider and Thomas’s hands went to her hips, yanking her ass higher. One arm came around her neck and Lauren dimly wondered if he intended to choke her. “We’re going to come...” two calloused fingers were slicking through her wet center and circling her clit. He positioned his hard bicep at her mouth. “When you come, instead of screaming with that lovely, breathy little shriek of yours, bite into me. As hard as you like.”

”Sir, I- I can’t-“ 

His thick muscle pressed harder against her lips. “Yes you can, and you will not hold back. I’m not going to.”

And he didn’t, that huge column of flesh driving through her and her Sir’s teeth fastened into her skin at the back of her neck. So when he came, stiffening and flooding her inside, Thomas’s jaw tightened, feeling like he was driving through skin and into muscle. So Lauren, instead of screaming, bit savagely into him, drawing blood as her cunt desperately clamped down against him, the pain making the pleasure heighten so unbearably that Lauren ended up screaming after all, the sound muffled against his bleeding arm.

It took them both a while to come back to their senses, pulling their teeth out of the other, nursing and fussing over their wounds, performing a curious aftercare. Thomas gave Lauren a couple of pills. When she looked up uncertainly, he smiled, rubbing his knuckles softly against her bruised breast. “Vitamin E and a stronger pain pill. You will be grateful for it in the morning.”

 

Thomas was correct, of course. As always. She took another in the morning, stubbornly insisting on running with her husband and feeling the blood beginning to flow back into her sore and bruised parts. He parted from her at the front door, dressed for battle in his bespoke blue suit and Lauren ready for orchestra practice in the softest of cotton sweaters and a long skirt. Slumping against the wood as he kissed her with some ferocity, Lauren giggled with embarrassment as his gloved hand lifted her chin. “I’ll see you tonight, you tasty little darling.” Smiling back up at him, Lauren’s brow wrinkled, a little confused. There was a look in his eyes. Regret?

Limping into practice, Lauren gratefully seated herself, testing the strings on her cello, listening for the tone as her eyes swept the hall, looking for Macie. There was a thick knot of anxiety that refused to dissolve. Macie was a smart girl. She’d drop this. She was gone forever as a friend, but... Feeling her breath hitch, Lauren gnawed on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to remain calm. Crying didn’t do anything.

Tapping his baton, the conductor spoke. “We’re opening auditions for the violin section, Macie Emerson emailed in her resignation today. Do let those who might be qualified know about our opening.” 

 

 

The "Cock of Arms" from the inspiration of Candy-Flaps and the artistry of Archy 3001

 


	25. If I Am All You Have, You Will Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out whether Macie lives, or dies. Because it's like that in the Corporation. No matter who your best friend is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear friends... if anyone's still around to read this update, my apologies. I got caught up in a Halloween "one-shot" that turned into 7 chapters, featuring both Thomas Sharpe and yummy Adam from Only Lovers Left Alive... two tasty Toms. One lucky OFC... God, I have never wanted to be a fictional character more than that story.

_**From the talented vision of The Left Hand** _

 

The house was dark, but it didn't occur to Lauren to turn on any lights. Instead, she paced. Her cello was still sitting in the entry where Chuck had placed it for her, the man eyeing her carefully like she was about to detonate and send shrapnel of hysterical tears at him. "Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Lauren?" he'd asked, feeling as if he was somehow failing his duty by not "fixing" the shaking girl in front of him.

"Uh..." Lauren had tried to concentrate, "no, it's all good. Thanks Chuck. Goodnight." Aside from flinching slightly when she called him 'Chuck,' the man remained impassive as he left, carefully shutting the door and waiting for the 'click' of the lock. Standing in the dark hall for a while, staring at nothing, Lauren's thoughts flew around her head like frightened birds. 

Did Thomas kill Macie? Would he- could he be that fucking evil?

She couldn't think of anything else to do, so Lauren started pacing the living room. It was exactly 50 steps to the big, leaded-glass windows. Fifteen steps to the fireplace. Thirty-five steps to the front entryway again. Absently counting out loud as she paced her erratic triangle, Lauren kept going over the options.

 

Macie was appropriately terrified and chose to run?

Her former best friend's flat was bugged? By Thomas or the Corporation? Did they have someone following Macie?

What if it's the Corporation... Lauren gave an ugly, convulsive sob and slapped her hand over her mouth, trying to not let the silent house hear her. If it's the Corporation, that sick fuck Number One, Macie was dead for sure. 'Jesus... they wouldn't... but they have a bordello,' the girl thought wildly, 'do they get girls like that? Would they SELL Macie?' 

"Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!" Lauren keened. This was all her fault, all her fucking fault. Remembering Thomas's cold, indifferent face when he'd nodded to Chuck to shoot her dad- this was not a merciful organization. She was not married to a merciful man. It didn't matter how he treated her. He was a monster. But... he wouldn't- not _kill_ Macie. "Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five... I bet Macie cut and run. That's it. Macie's somewhere safe." But she couldn't stop shaking.

 

Lauren was on the 3,075th step when she heard Thomas's key in the door and her trembling turned into a full-body shudder. 'Cut this shit out!' she angrily ordered herself, gritting her teeth.

"Darling?" it was the Voice, Thomas's damnable, rich tones that made her melt, made her cave like a cheap souffle, every time. But not tonight. "Why are you standing in the dark?"

Blinking as the light suddenly switched on, Lauren rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and wondered if she was next. Trying to drag out the plan she'd made from her exhausted brain, the girl tried to remember if she was going to fake ignorance for a while... lure him into a sense of false security with a nice dinner and a bottle of wine and then: strike like a snake? Trick him into answering? Watching her husband calmly shed his cashmere topcoat and hang it in the entryway closet, Lauren knew that was ridiculous. 

"Macie, she's... Macie's gone." she suddenly blurted, her heart pounding hard enough to choke her. Shuffling through the mail, that smooth bastard didn't even bother to look up, the same calm expression undisturbed on his beautiful, stupid, evil, stupid, stupid face.

"Oh?" asked Thomas indifferently, "Gone where?"

Watching his big hands flicking envelopes open, Lauren shuddered, picturing them around her neck. Were they around Macie's neck last night? 'Oh, right,' she thought bitterly, 'Thomas never kills himself, too messy.' Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "She's gone, Thomas. Did you... Is she dead?" An ugly sob broke through her hard-won demeanor, humiliating the girl.

Her husband looked up sharply, eyes cooling to a frost blue as he looked her over. "What did you just say to me, little girl?"

 

Voice rising, Lauren couldn't stop herself, still walking in her strange little triangle. "Is she dead, Thomas? Did you kill my best friend? Did you hurt her? I've been so careful to follow your _rules_ -" she spat the last and suddenly he was in front of her, his tall body blocking the way around him. To escape.

"You will need to stop talking. Right. Now." he snarled, leaning down to crowd her into the mantel of the fireplace. "Think very carefully about what you're blurting out like a little fool. Think about what's at stake before you open your mouth again."

Staring into the chillingly beautiful face of the demon she was bound to, Lauren could feel her heart hitch and miss a beat before reluctantly getting back into rhythm. Licking her lips, she ducked under his suited arm and began her pacing again. 'Thirteen... fourteen... fifteen...' Brows furrowed, Thomas leaned against the fireplace and watched his distraught wife conduct her circuit of the great room. Two more paces of fifty each and Lauren was composed enough to speak again. "Macie's gone," she began lamely.

"So I hear," Thomas answered dryly, taking off his jacket and tie, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he found himself mentally counting off his bride's steps before irritably stopping himself.

"It's NOT FUNNY!" Lauren shouted before she could stop herself, trying to back up and nearly falling over the couch as her terrifying spouse stalked over to her, grabbing her upper arms and giving her a brisk shake.

"Lower your voice and calm yourself," he hissed, absently loosening his hands against her arms. Lauren bruised so easily... there were purple marks he very much enjoyed watching sprout the next day after an... active session. But the bruises marring her pale skin like handcuffs would give him an unpleasant sensation, they had before. Hustling her into the kitchen, Thomas flipped on the light and started the kettle as he roughly seated her in a chair. The fight seemed to go out of the girl then, hands resting limply on her lap. He cracked his neck absently, remembering her blushing goodbye kiss that morning. The last one he'd be receiving (willingly) for a while, he supposed. "Before you speak another word, you will drink this and take a moment before you blurt out any more accusations." Pouring her a cup of tea, he was somehow irritable with himself for knowing she preferred peppermint when she was sad and upset and like a little drizzle of the honey she'd picked up from the farmer's market in the nearby park. She'd begged him to come with her last Thursday, darting between the booths like a dragonfly and showing him new items with an eager, happy face, looking up to him for his approval with a bright smile. Remembering the outing while he watched her numbly drink the scalding tea, Thomas stopped himself from groaning. When she'd had most of the tea and her hands had stopped shaking, he started again. "How was your 'girl's night' with Macie, darling?" his voice was cold, but composed, "Anything you left out from our chat?"

When his sweet wife looked up at him, her expression was cold, bitter. Something he'd never seen before from her. "I think you know, Thomas. And if you do-" her voice broke, but Lauren angrily composed herself. "-you know I did everything I could to stop her. I tried to scare her, just the way you did to me."

Leaning back against the counter, Thomas folded his arms, his polar gaze intent on her. "What did she say to you?" He slipped into the soul-chilling stare he used on the disloyal or the foolish. Making certain he'd lulled them into a false sense of hopefulness that if only they told him everything- he would _surely_ let them live. He would see they were _so_ sorry for their mistake- They died, of course. Every time. But, this was his wife and he had to make damned certain he knew everything in order to protect her. But for now... the cold part of his brain reasserted itself. For now, let her wonder if she might die. To be certain he had not missed a single detail.

"Thomas, Macie's- she's-" Lauren was floundering, wondering if she was only signing her friend's death warrant by saying anything at all. He was silent, still giving her that ghastly stare. "She's so loyal," she choked back a sob, knowing tears would only irritate him. "She would do anything for her friends, she let me stay on her couch when Frank kicked me out of the house, and-"

"What. Did. She. _Tell_ you, darling?" Thomas was relentless.

"She was just trying to save me!" Lauren pleaded, looking at his cold, immobile expression, "She did a lot of research online, I guess, and-" her husband's forbidding countenance did not soften, and she swallowed heavily. "The Corporation can't keep keep everything hidden. But she took... she took." her throat closed and she swallowed convulsively, trying not to scream. 

"Yes?"

It was one word, but it was laced with so much barely-contained fury that Lauren started shaking. "Macie said she t-talked to a detective at- at the precinct by her flat. Is that what you call it here a precinct or something else but she said he was a detective and-"

Thomas's hand slammed down on the counter and she nearly jumped off her chair. "Did she give you a name?"

Lauren shook her head adamantly, her watery eyes wide and sincere. "No. I don't know if the detective even believed her. I told her then to forget about it and never talk about the Corporation again. That w- we couldn't ever talk again and she had to keep her mouth shut and we had to burn everything she printed and delete the history on her laptop." Despite her best efforts, her chest hitched and the girl began to cry. "I told her I was trying to save her life." Looking up at the forbidding figure looming over her, Lauren forced herself to ask again. "Did you kill her, Thomas?"

He had never looked more polar, more indifferent to her desperation. "We had a business engagement tonight, you are clearly in no shape to attend." After checking his stainless steel Philippe Patel, Thomas looked her over again, like she was yet another problem begging for her life. He'd never killed a woman... irritated that his thoughts drifted, Pine began rolling down his sleeves again, smoothing his hair. "Straker will be here in the house to keep an eye on you. I expect you to behave. Be my quiet, good girl." Pulling on his jacket, he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on his wife's cheek, ignoring how she visibly shuddered at the touch of his mouth.

Just as his hand touched the front door, Lauren's desperate voice stopped him. "You didn't tell me. Please, Thomas? Please?" Without answering her, Thomas left, ignoring her sobs echoing from the kitchen.

 

Thomas Pine, the unflappable Number Two of Jaguar Holdings, sat and amiably conversed with their guests at dinner, chuckling at a particularly gruesome story from their Caribbean partners, who were so very excellent at laundering money. Until someone gets greedy, of course, which is what made this little dinner chat so exceptionally horrifying. To the average person. To the group of dark and hardened souls around the table, it was simply in a day's work. Pine continued to chuckle at the right times, lead them in a toast and brush off the efforts of a particularly attentive hostess at the private Japanese house where they had dinner. And dessert. Thomas watched Michael eagerly take the hand of another alluring girl and head off upstairs. Number Three had never been faithful to Clara, so really, it was business as usual as Ben stood and buttoned his suit jacket, heading in the same direction with another girl.

But Number One paused at the first step, turning to look at his second in command. "Thomas!" he called with his false joviality, "Surely there is one lovely thing here that meets your high standards?"

It was a test. Thomas knew Ben was gauging just how attached he was to his reluctant bride. Summoning a leer, he answered easily. "You forget that I'm a newlywed, Ben. So many things left to do to... break her in." It was the perfect thing to say. His partner lit up with a nauseating glee.

"Hah, ha!" Ben chuckled fondly. "Off you go then."

Smoothing his tie and leaving, Thomas shook off a feeling of being coated in filth.

 

The house was dimly lit as he returned home, nodding to Straker and questioning him about the evening. Lauren's bodyguard sat in an uncomfortable chair pulled from the dining table and placed at the bottom of the stairs, where he could see and hear anything going on in the house. Thomas was impressed by the man's deft placement. "How is my wife?" he asked casually, eyeing the darkened hallway leading to the bedroom.

Straker shrugged carefully. "Mrs. Pine chose to retire early," he stated calmly, "she appeared fatigued."

'The master of understatement,' Thomas thought with a certain sense of respect. He'd chosen well for Lauren's personal security. "Very well," he said out loud, "Lauren will need more... careful scrutiny over the next few days. Her anxiety may make her careless. I expect you to head off any unfortunate situations."

Putting away his phone and returning the chair to the table, Chuck nodded. "Of course, Mr. Pine. She will have my complete attention."

Thomas almost softened, hearing the man's certainty and devotion. "Excellent. I know you will. Good night."

"Good night," Straker returned politely as he left, closing the door quietly behind him. Setting the home's security system, Thomas let out an almost soundless sigh and began to climb the stairs to the third floor. 

 

The master bedroom was dark, but Thomas could see the shape of his wife under the down comforter. He'd almost expected her to try to sleep in her music conservatory, but suspected she'd be too heartsick to think clearly. He correctly predicted her actions. Lauren was huddled on her side, in a frail-looking fetal position with her knees drawn up to her chest, as if trying to make herself as small as possible. It was not her usual position, Thomas noted, his Lauren slept on her back, arms and legs tossed carelessly over the mattress. He'd woken up more than once with her hand flung over his face or her leg wedged in between his. Mildly irritated at himself for the fond smile he wore at the memory of his wife's random cuddling, Thomas undressed silently for bed. He could tell the moment Lauren awoke, the tell-tale stiffening of her body before she forced herself to breathe evenly again. Pulling down the comforter enough to slide into bed next to her, the cold heart of Thomas Pine thawed just a tad as he watched the girl's body, protectively curved into a tight little huddle.

"Lauren."

There was no answer, and with a sigh, he gently pulled her over to face him. But she stubbornly kept her chin tucked into her chest. "Look at me, little one." She resisted until his hand went under her jaw, lifting her head to look into his eyes. "Macie is alive." Lauren gave a convulsive little sob, but slapped her hand over her mouth, trying to keep quiet as her heartbroken gaze met his. "I've had her under surveillance since you and I became engaged. She did not seem like the sort to let go of a close friendship," Thomas said wryly.

"I tried to keep away from her-" she began, but he hushed her.

"I know Lauren, I know you did," he assured her, soothing her and brushing her hair back from her face. "But it is my job as your husband to make certain of your safety. Macie's irritating, determined nature was bound to surface as a threat to the Corporation at some point. I intended to put a halt to it before it came to the attention of Ben." She nodded shakily, still staring up at him with those huge violet eyes. His voice turned sterner. "Your friend has taken a position with the Berlin Philharmonic. She was moved there overnight by two of my men. I have made it very clear to her that her life, as well as yours depends on her keeping her mouth shut and never speaking of you, or the Corporation ever again." Tears filled her eyes, overflowing silently onto her cheeks but Lauren nodded again.

 

____________________________________

 

Thomas was seated in the only decent piece of furniture in the girl's flat, watching Macie frantically throw clothing into a suitcase. "Do you understand what I have told you?" His voice was ice, almost inhuman and it made her cringe.

"Y-yes," she managed, trying to swallow her tears. Macie had crumbled almost instantly when Thomas had arrived at her door ten minutes after the frantic departure of her (former) best friend. He calmly produced copies of her online activities, photos of her meetings with the unfortunate detective and a cruel closeup of his staring, sightless eyes with a bullet hole between them, in painfully crisp, clear focus.

"You've already murdered one person with your stupidity and your arrogant do-gooder insistence," he'd snarled, "your 'holier than thou' idiocy that sent you stumbling through something that anyone with an IQ higher than that of a goldfish would know was certain death. But you just had to, didn't you?" Lauren's friend was sobbing and terrified, huddled in a corner of her little flat and slumped on the floor, the pictures scattered in front of her. "I should have you killed tonight," Thomas's voice was more terrifying by it's indifference. "A quick finish for a stupid little girl. If my partners had discovered this first, they would have sold you into a whorehouse, Mexico, perhaps, or Saudi Arabia. Stupid little girls are quite popular there, they so enjoy breaking them." Macie's horrified weeping was louder now, and Thomas irritably straightened his cuffs. "You care so little for my wife that you'd sign her death warrant as well?" Her desperate brown eyes were wide, owlish as she couldn't break his contemptuous stare. Leaning back, he narrowed his eyes. "What do you think I should do with you, Macie? A foolish creature like you, thinking you could damage us? Expose the Corporation?" he chuckled humorously, "The only reason that poor sod-" he nodded to the dead man's photo, "-had to die was because he was too low-level for us to have bothered to own him." Leaning closer, Thomas watched Macie shrink back, still sobbing and shaking her head. "What should I do with you?"

Macie managed to get a few sentences out through her weeping. "...Never tell anyone... go away... never see me again... swear..."

Rising, Number Two of Jaguar Holdings made his way over to her, pulling a gun from a shoulder holster. "Now, why would I believe that? You didn't care enough about your life or my _wife's-"_ taking in a deep breath, Thomas forced himself to be calm, "-to shut up and leave it alone when it was clear what you were dealing with. Why should I trust you now?" He lifted the gun, watching Macie try to crab-walk away from him, tears and snot running down her face, shaking her head over and over, promising him anything if he would just- Blinking, Pine forced himself back into the moment. This was his Lauren's foolish but well-intentioned best friend. She thought she was saving Lauren from _him_. "Because I find I have a dangerous softness for my bride," he spat, "I will spare your life. There is an opening in the Berlin Philharmonic. They have accepted you. You have a flat in the city by the rehearsal hall." She was shuddering with the effort to stop crying, he noted dispassionately. "You will never return here. You will never speak of the Corporation. You will never speak of, or to my wife again. Is this all quite clear?" She was nodding frantically, as if a single nod would change his mind and the gun would come back out. Thomas thrust the photo of the dead detective into her face again, almost enjoying her stifled shriek. "If you do not learn from this, the next picture you see before I put a bullet in your brain will be the dead body of your dear best friend Lauren." Macie was looking at him with horror now, as if this mess was somehow of his making, rather than hers. "Do you understand?" She nodded again, as fast as she could. "DO YOU!" Thomas shouted into her tear-soaked face, and this time the girl nearly screamed, "Yes! Yes I swear! I swear!"

 

_________________________________

 

Bringing himself back to the present and the warm body of his wife, Thomas realized with some surprise that she was clinging to him, arms around his neck and thanking him repeatedly in her sweet, tremulous voice. His arms automatically went around her, feeling her little body shake. Of course. It was more than just gratitude, he thought, Lauren was made to love. And if he was all she had, she would love him.

"Shhh..." he soothed tenderly, kissing her cheeks, cradling her wet face in his palms, "everything's all right now. Your friend is safe." As he expected (hoped?) his bride covered his face with kisses, thanking him between each one. And when Lauren shyly lifted one leg to wrap over his waist, Thomas hid his smile.

Lauren was doing everything she could to stop weeping, thinking it was the worst possible way to give herself to Thomas. But the girl was grateful that her chilly and confusing husband was kind that night, whispering tender compliments about her beauty, her skin, her sweet voice as he touched her, sliding two fingers inside her to leisurely stroke along her rapidly moistening channel, enjoying the helpless little clenches it made against his hand when his thumb tapped her clit. In return, she sucked along his neck, nibbled on his earlobes in the way she was learning he liked. Then, reaching for his cock laying hard and heavy against her thigh and opening her legs wider for him. His first thrust was hard- all the way to the hilt- but Thomas rested over her for a moment, still murmuring snatches of Shakespeare in his deepest, most mesmerizing voice. He was heavy, putting more weight on her than usual, but Lauren found it comforted her, feeling grounded under the muscled bulk of her husband as he leisurely thrust in and out of her, rotating his hips to push deeper, higher inside her. It hurt- not like his deliciously intentional ways of causing pain- but it was still oddly caring, feeling her dark husband inside her as far as he could go, blindly squeezing her breasts and hoarsely giving her permission to come. And for the first time, instead of pulling himself from her and cleaning her, performing aftercare, Thomas fell asleep still inside her, and Lauren sleepily hooked her ankles around his hips to keep him there.

 

 

The lovely, brilliant art of Diana Molloy's "Cock Coat of Arms"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lauren’s obsessive, counted steps actually comes from a far more salacious passage from misreall’s “A Spell Of Utter Severing.” If you have not read it and the first in the series, it has a luscious Incubus Loki. With horns. You will never forgive yourself if you don’t read it immediately.


	26. Accepting The Unacceptable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren is inspired. And tied up.

From the talented mind of [TheLeftHand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLeftHand/pseuds/TheLeftHand)

 

For the first time that she could remember, Lauren woke before Thomas the next day. Propping her head up on her hand, she simply watched him. Damn... but he was gorgeous, her husband. Eyes closed, at rest, he was beyond beautiful. His expression was relaxed in a way it never was when he was awake, when her husband kept that perpetual expression of urbane amusement. The thick fan of his lashes rested on his sculpted cheekbones and without his piercing state, she was able to simply... enjoy him. The width of those shoulders, arms thick with muscle... Somewhere in her dreamy perusal his eyes had opened, watching her with a slight smile, one brow raised. 

"You're staring at me, little girl," Thomas's voice was deeper, a little raspier in the morning, and it never failed to make Lauren's toes curl.

"Was not," was her instant, embarrassed response.

Laughing her dark husband rolled her over onto her back, cobalt eyes looking her over with a certain, arousing thoroughness. "Now _you_ , darling, are worth gazing at... 

 _"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;_  
_Coral is far more red than her lips' red;_  
_If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;_  
_If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head._  
_I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,_  
_But no such roses see I in her cheeks..."_

Lauren gave a helpless little sigh. "You know what your Shakespeare does to me," she groaned, her complaints smothered by a long kiss from the man above her.

"Of course I know," Thomas agreed, "and with one as luscious as you, I need all the little tricks I can employ." After a series of kisses, tongues twisting and the occasional nip on a full lower lip, he buried his nose in her hair. "It seems I have a free morning, sweet wife. What shall I do with you?"

The memory of last night was burned into her memory, Lauren could still taste her terror, her relief, making love- because that's what it felt like- to Thomas. The sane part of her was angrily shrilling that she should _not_ give into his seduction, that she _shouldn't-_ but the desperate part of her that knew he'd spared Macie for her, answered demurely, "I'm sure I have no idea, Mr Pine."

 

Which was how she found herself in their Fun Dungeon, with her diabolical spouse tightly wrapping a rope around her breasts, making them swell a little and stand out rather aggressively. Lauren was seated on the long, padded bench, hands cuffed behind her and secured to one of the bars on the bench below her and legs embarrassingly spread and secured as well.

 

"...What is this?" she'd asked as Thomas led her over to the long bench in front of those deceptive wingback chairs. He'd pulled off the luxurious covering and Lauren gasped to see a long, low cage surrounded by sturdy bars and a small swinging door on one side. The top of the bench was padded in more smooth leather, and it was altogether terrifying. Her alarmed lavender gaze followed along it, noting a thin pad inside the cage-bench-thingie. "Is this for a pet?" she'd asked in a small voice.

Thomas chuckled in that alarming "You're about to find out," kind of way, but seated her on the bench after pulling off her sleep shorts and silky top. Kneeling before her, he cupped her face in his hands, staring at her intently. "Are you my good girl, Lauren?"

She stared at him, contemplating her answer. She knew he wouldn't wait long. Last night had made her feelings softer towards him than they should be, but also even more terrified about what he was capable of. "I... want to be?"

"Then cross your wrists behind you," he whispered in her ear, and with a slight whimper, she did as she was told. "Spread your legs..." Flushing Lauren did, even though baring herself to him had never become less embarrassing. Then, the rope, smoothly wound into a sort of tight harness, and looking down, the girl was mortified to see her nipples were already hard and pert. Thomas noted this as well, toying with them with thumb and forefinger with an approving purr. "Your lovely breasts are exquisite like this, so anxious for attention, swollen... Are they sore, lovely?"

Lauren shook her head, a little dazed, "No."

"They will be," was his chilling answer before Thomas bent to fit as much of the left one as he could into his mouth, slurping, sucking and licking with utterly filthy sounds, making Lauren terribly uncomfortable until his lip's attentions to her increasingly sensitive breasts made her forget anything else-

"AHH!" The sharp sound of a crop whistled through the air as it landed on the small of Lauren's back.

"What do we do here in this room, little girl?" Thomas's beautiful, horrible voice was in her ear again, making her shudder with a sudden bout of goosebumps.

"Uh?" she was trying to think as that damnable crop was tapping idly along her back. "AHH!" Lauren yelped as it cracked against her slumped spine. "P- posture, Sir? Good posture?"

She held perfect posture as his mouth returned to her breasts, the crop sliding around to tap very, very gently on her wet center. "Very good, pet. Such a good girl..." Thomas tormented her for a good hour, playing with every inch of her, sliding his long fingers in and out of her, idly spreading her slick from her bottom- which made her clench and him laugh- to her clit. He painted her nipple with the wet from inside her, then licking it off with a disconcerting thoroughness. Finally, when she was a shaking mess, he stood in front of her, dropping his lounge pants and taking his cock in hand, stroking it from root to tip. "Open." His head tipped back and Thomas groaned as she did as she was told, feeling the hot of her mouth and that insanely fluttering tongue. 

Lauren's eyes closed, feeling the lovely weight of him inching down her throat, the tangy bite of his pre-come, gracefully arching her throat the way her scary husband had taught her to keep from gagging on his length. His fingers were carding through her hair, praising her in hoarse murmurs. 

Finally pulling from her mouth, Thomas pressed her forehead to his heaving abdomen for a moment, gathering his breath again. "Open your eyes, baby," he ordered, and Lauren did. Two of his long fingers were opening her, examining her and making her flush. "Oh, no darling, look down," he ordered, "I want you to watch who's fucking you. I want you to see how sweetly you spread around me." Thomas chuckled, only a little unkindly as his shy wife tried to strangle down a whimper. But Lauren forced herself to watch as the wide head of his cock slid inside her, feeling the burn like she always did, somehow relishing it and wanting it more, feeling the heat and stretch of him deeper. Thomas was not in the mood to be soft and gentle, so his movements were sharp and abrupt, making Lauren jerk and stiffen, the lean muscles in her thighs tightening and drawing him in further. 

And then, damn him, Thomas insisted on the Voice. It had never been more compelling, more filthy as he whispered in her ear, pausing occasionally to lick and bite it. "Tell your Sir how much you like my cock. Taking all of me like such a dirty little girl..." His big palms smoothed up her back, holding her steady at her shoulder blades as his elbow nudged her left leg higher, making his penetration deeper than usual, pushing harder up inside her.

Back arched, head dropped back, Lauren was struggling with the combination of pressure and pain, and the alarming sense that it felt so good to finally have him touching those places she didn't know existed- that it was so- Her dazed thought process halted as Thomas abruptly pulled out of her, releasing her handcuffed wrists from the barred bench and sliding under her, lifting Lauren by her hips and almost dropping her back on his cock.

"AH-OW! T-Thomas, please yell- yellow please?" To her relief, her confusing spouse halted instantly, as he'd promised when introducing her to this room, holding still with his cock painfully impaled inside her, calmingly stroking her hips, her sides as he leaned in to kiss her neck and cheek, making soothing noises.

The rasp of his morning stubble scratched along her soft cheek. "I will not move until you say, lovely." He felt her head nod against his cheek, and two long fingers slipped down to circle gently around her clitoris. He'd seen her here before, perched on the precipice of pain and need and not certain which direction she'd fall. So he praised and kissed her, waiting for the anxious clenching of her channel to loosen. It was wildly arousing, that his innocent wife could clamp down so hard against his shaft that she held him immobile inside her.

But after a while, Lauren's shaking stopped and she whispered, "Green, Sir."

Irritated at his eagerness that had made him greedy with her, Thomas started more slowly this time, moving and circling his hips under her soft ass until Lauren began moaning at each thrust, and then he abruptly leaned her forward, using her rope harness to yank her up and down on his engorged organ, nearly purple in his desperation to come but stubbornly refusing until he'd dragged this delicious little girl into hers. When Lauren's back popped into a painful arch and she began shamelessly rubbing her clit on his hairy thigh, they came together.

 

Gently releasing her from her bonds, Thomas rubbed her wrists and shoulders, carrying his wife back into their bedroom and bathing her, scrupulously soaping each inch of her- some of the sensitive bits twice- before dressing her in a soft t-shirt and putting her in bed. "Why don't you take a little nap?" he suggested, dressing in a suit.

"Oh..." her disappointed little voice came from under the mountain of pale linen, "you're going into work?" It was a Sunday, but in the Corporation's world, days of the week meant nothing.

Smiling gently, Thomas leaned down to kiss her, looping his tie. "Only for a short meeting or two. If you're not sleepy, why don't you head down to Selfridge’s and look at the gowns the personal shopper selected for you? The gala for the fundraiser is less than a month away. When I come home, we'll make dinner together and watch a movie."

Lauren brightened instantly, as he knew she would. They rarely had quiet evenings at home alone. "Can I pick the movie?" He groaned, but agreed, knowing he'd be watching some vile RomCom but it would be worth it to see her happiness.

 

So Lauren went to the legendary department store and went through some of the ridiculously expensive gowns selected by the personal shopper Thomas had hired. They were all too... something. Too shiny. Too tight. Too long. Too expensive. Giving up after the tenth sequined concoction, she smiled politely at the tight-lipped woman and said insincerely, "We'll do this again soon, when I get a better idea of the gala's theme."

Ducking out was a relief, even breathing in the sooty London air, Mrs Thomas Pine smiled. She _was_ getting more assertive. Chuck had the car magically by the curb in a moment, holding the door open for her. He inched one brow up slightly when Lauren shook her head. "I want to just, you know, stroll around for a little, okay?" Her bodyguard reluctantly nodded, waving off the car and following her.

 

It wasn't like Lauren to walk aimlessly, but she was rarely in this part of the city, and she was simply enjoying the watery sunshine and the beautiful old buildings. Chuck was close, almost at her elbow. Far closer than he usually was, but she didn't take offense. She was certain Thomas had ordered him to keep a close eye on her in case she cracked, or something.

Lauren was not going to crack.

It was a lot like how she'd felt when her mom died, the girl thought, pausing outside a flower store to admire a huge, beautiful assortment of hydrangeas. Except for being older made it easier, more clear. There wasn't a choice. She'd chuckled bitterly then at friends who dramatically wailed, "I'm giving up!" over a test, or a bad boyfriend, or losing their phone at the mall. Lauren never understood that. There was no giving up. It was not allowed. So, maybe that's why her life with Thomas wasn't as unspeakable as she'd first anticipated. And her scary husband was unaccountably capable of moments of exquisite kindness, even occasionally tenderness. She hadn't decided whether that made her life worse, or better. Pausing in front of a little stone building, Lauren smiled to realize it was a Catholic church. She was lapsed, she had never gone back after her mother's funeral. A god who took the only person in her life that truly mattered- who was the world to her- was not a god she wanted to speak to ever again. But... it was a beautiful church, so she stepped in the old oak doors, Chuck close on her heels with brow raised.

Smiling, Lauren ran her hand over the little wooden stand in the foyer, half lit candles and a little arrangement of flowers. And then she started down the aisle. Feeling Chuck's breath lightly on the back of her neck, she mischievously stopped suddenly, feeling him recover a second before tripping into her. "Chuck? Dude? I'm not going anywhere. I'm just going to light a candle for..." swallowing convulsively, all her grief and loss over losing her mother came roaring back, and Lauren paused for a moment. "I'm just lighting a candle for my mom, okay?"

There was a moment, and she could almost hear the slightest lilt of regret in his voice. "Of course, Miss Lauren. I'll just sit here."

Continuing down the aisle, Lauren knelt before the altar for a moment before leaving a handful of pounds in the little collection box. Thinking about it, looking at the clean, but shabby velvet curtains and cushions, she dug into her purse and pulled out all the money she had, stuffing it in with the rest. Taking a taper and lighting a fresh candle, she bowed her head and tried to remember how to pray. Her lips moved, like muscle memory, but she couldn't seem to understand the words her mouth was shaping. Finally, feeling foolish and not sure what else to do, the girl sat in the front row, staring at the lovely stained glass windows.

"Good afternoon."

Lauren nearly fell off the bench. "G-good afternoon, Father," she managed, pressing her hand to her chest.

The priest was a slight, older man, thinning gray hair and wire-framed spectacles. He had a kind, tired face and sat a respectful distance from her, hands holding a bible in his lap. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. You looked deep in thought."

She tried to give a dismissive laugh, but it turned out more like a gulp from someone who was trying not to cry. "I was, um, I guess I was thinking about my mom. She..." Lauren was silent again and so was the priest, calmly waiting as if he had all the time in the world. "She... she died a couple of years ago. I just wanted to light a candle, but I'm not a big church-goer so I should just leave, I guess-"

"When I lost my parents, I didn't speak to God for a year."

Half-risen from the bench, Lauren awkwardly sat back down. "Oh, I'm really sorry, Father, that's-" 

He patted her arm absently, "Thank you, it was 25 years ago, so my grief is not as fresh as yours. But you will always feel it." The priest smiled suddenly. "Everyone told you platitudes like, "The grief fades in time, and so on and so on?"

Almost giggling at the man's daring, Lauren nodded. "Exactly. It's all crap. I miss her even more now, it's-" her throat closed up again and she looked away.

Another respectful pause. "It's harder in times when her wisdom would mean so much, isn't it?"

Lauren looked at him, eyes wide. "How'd you-"

Shaking his grey head and chuckling, the priest said, "I know the look. Lost, looking for someone that's gone. It's difficult to figure out all the answers by ourselves."

Looking at him uncomfortably, Lauren asked, "You're going to give me the speech about how God hears our prayers now, right?"

But he shrugged. "Not necessarily." Taking off his glasses, he cleaned them on an old handkerchief before settling them on his nose again. "Have you read David Hume?"

Brow raised, Lauren said, "The Scottish philosopher? Oh, yes. Frank- my dad kept telling me we were related somehow, in fact, my grandfather was named David Hume Fraser, so-" This time, she started crying, humiliated that she didn't know why.

The priest nodded, ignoring her tears. "A good Scottish girl, excellent! David Hume was a strong skeptic and empiricist. He claimed that our beliefs don’t come from our reason but rather from our feelings and ideas of how the world should be. He was a passionate advocate of what he called, 'Accepting the Unacceptable.' Claiming that our insistence on believing what the world _should_ be, kept us from accepting and embracing what was." His visitor had stopped crying and seemed to be listening, so he continued, "Mind, this does not mean giving up and resigning oneself to one's fate if a situation is untenable. but it means not raging against what _is_. Do you see?"

Lauren nodded vigorously. "I do." Looking down at her fingers, she tried to think of what to say that wouldn't involve Chuck shooting the priest for Knowing Too Much. "But what... if the Unacceptable is truly- I mean, to God and most of society- truly unacceptable?"

The priest eyed her, frowning thoughtfully. The girl did not look abused, her lively spirit was still glowing, undimmed by whatever circumstance she found herself in. "Then..." he ventured, "perhaps one thinks about why one is in this place, this situation. Is there a role for them? A task? Room to do good in what seems dark and hopeless?"

Heart sinking, Lauren tried to picture even a corner of the Corporation or her Thomas that could be changed for the better, that would melt at the promise of redemption. Shrugging and giving the priest a small smile, she said, "Then I'm thinking God has some unrealistic expectations." To her surprise, the priest burst out laughing.

"Have you heard what Mother Teresa said to the Pope when he complimented her on her work with the lepers in Calcutta?"

Lauren shook her head, her smile growing larger.

"His Holiness said," he continued, "that despite the unspeakable conditions that Mother Teresa worked in, that he had complete faith in her, saying that 'God never gives us more than we can handle.' Legend has it that Mother Teresa reared up like an angry cobra and hissed, 'Then I wish God didn't trust me so much!'"

They both burst out laughing at the same moment, Lauren still giggling for longer than the little joke deserved, but it felt so good to just _laugh_... "Thank you, Father," she finally gasped, "I haven't laughed like that in so long."

"Ah, laughing is crucial, my child. Every day if you can," the priest said sternly, but with a little smile. "You must make the effort. It pleases God to hear it."

Lauren's smile faded a little, but she held onto it. "I'll do my best." Standing, she uncertainly held out her hand. "Thank you so much for your time, Father."

Instead of taking her hand, the priest laid his on the top of her head gently, uttering a small prayer. "Domine, benedicere puero hoc. Da fortitudinem ea invenire viam illam." Lauren felt tears spring to her eyes again, but she felt the warmth of his hands and was still for a moment.

"Thank you Father," she murmured, and he nodded again.

"I am always here if you need more advice from ancient Scottish philosophers," he joked, and Lauren chuckled as she walked down the aisle, looking back once to see him watching her go.

 

They were back in the car and heading home before she spoke again. "You heard our conversation, right, Chuck?"

There was a moment of polite silence, before her bodyguard agreed, "Yes." His glance flicked back in the rear-view mirror to see his charge's mouth tight and cold.

"Then you know there's no reason to hurt him." She could hear the faint sounds of traffic outside and the first pitter-pat of raindrops on the windshield.

When he spoke again, Chuck's voice was even more serious and grave than usual. "No reason at all, Miss Lauren. At all." He could see her relax visibly before returning his attention to the traffic, and they were silent for the rest of the way home.

 

 Domine, benedicere puero hoc. Da fortitudinem ea invenire viam illam - Latin for: “Lord, bless this child. Give her strength to find her way.”

 

From the gifted, diabolical brain of our sweet Archy 3001

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My grandfather is actually named David Hume Fraser, and my Scottish side is adamant that we're related closely to the great philosopher. I'm too lazy to go through our painfully detailed genealogy, so I'll take their word for it. As I was writing this, we observed Veteran's Day here in the states. My grandfather went down on a battleship in the Atlantic from a Nazi torpedo, leaving behind my outrageously stubborn grandmother and SIX FREAKING children in a tiny town. I love them both so much. To everyone in our community who has lost family and loved ones as they fought to protect us, a huge hug from me to you.


	27. It Seems I Must Remind You Who You Belong To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover even the cool, collected Number Two of Jaguar Holdings can fall victim to feelings as passé as the Green Eyed Monster.

For a couple of weeks, Lauren wore the soft, misty expression of a woman over-orgasmed but okay with it. Even running wasn’t enough to get the blood flowing to reduce her limp after a long night with her insatiable spouse. Or an early afternoon. A late morning. Or all three. The more Thomas had his wife, the more he wanted her, and Lauren wasn’t inclined to complain.

It was not as if her dark husband wasn’t aware of her sex-based infirmities, or his responsibility.

“Lauren. Where are you, darling?”

She was actually in her music room, shifting from one hip to the other, trying to find a position that would allow her raw lower half be comfortable long enough to practice. “I’m up here, Thomas. Thinking about trying to work on some rough spots.” Wincing as it sounded sexual to her- but after these four months with her villainous spouse, everything sounded sexual- Lauren heard his low chuckle. ‘Oh, god,’ she groaned internally, not sure whether to be more concerned about her brutally overused girl parts, or that said girl parts were already moistening at the sound of Thomas’s beautiful, knowing voice.

Hearing his deliberate steps up to the fourth floor, Lauren shivered, embarrassed that her entire being seemed attuned to his small cues. The calm, even tread meant to make her count his steps to her. His voice, deep and slightly feral. And oh... god his smile- the same one on his lips as he appeared in the door of her room. Hands innocently in the pockets of his expensive gray suit as Thomas leaned against the wall... but that damned smile... his eyes, cobalt which Lauren knew was a good omen for her. Sexually, anyway. “How are you, my sweet girl?” The words were almost tender, delivered in her husband’s best purring drawl.

Lauren shifted uneasily, not certain what game they were playing. Did Thomas mean like... “How are you today?” Like, a social greeting? Or, “How is your sweet, stretched little kitty?” He’d asked that before and she’d almost died with embarrassment as his long fingers had slid down her stomach, sliding back and forth over the pitiful cotton defense of her underwear. Or, did her unfairly beautiful spouse mean, “Is your extremely sore cunt ready for another pounding?” Because honestly she had no idea.

“I’m good,” she finally answered him, cheek against the long neck of her cello. “How was work?”

“Tedious,” Thomas assured her, leaning down to run his nose along Lauren’s flushes cheek. “Endless reports... meetings. And myself quite distracted by thoughts of my beautiful, luscious little wife. At home creating such exquisite music from her instruments.” His warm mouth was against her cheek now, hearing how his lovely wife’s breathing speeding up. “Thinking of all the melodies I could coax from her under me...” Lauren heard herself whimper, trying to swallow it down before he heard it, too. But then his goddamned, knowing chuckle. “Dare I hope that you were also thinking of me, ma Cheri?” There was a strangled gulp from her long, lovely throat, and he could feel his dick harden against the confines of his fine woolen trousers.

”I... I’m always thinking about y-“ Lauren stopped herself, biting down on her tongue. She would not encourage this egotistical bastard! Thomas William Pine already knew he owned her body, he didn’t need to know he owned her soul, too.

 

"So, what was the final decision, Lauren?"

Arabella was smiling encouragingly at her, and Lauren smiled back gratefully. She knew this choice wouldn't be popular, the project was based in the poorest schools in London, not the "prettier" options the other committee members preferred. But this guy... "Thanks, 'Bella. I selected the Genesis Project because of how much they've done with so little   Tracking their programs shows that students involved had a 200% higher chance of graduating then the rest of the class they also scored consistently higher grades in math and science as well as the art. This is important because it shows that the music education they're implementing tracks over to other course curriculum." there was tittering from some of the other board members, and Lauren looked up, distracted. "What's so funny?"

It was the third wife of the Corporation's Mergers and Acquisitions Department who answered her. "And the fact the founder looks like a supermodel had nothing to do with your choice?"

Lauren shrugged, confused, "I don't know, I've never seen him." Unfortunately, the excellent secretary assigned to the board had promptly prepared a lovely presentation and had already passed them out to everyone at the table. Included was an 8x10 of founder Miles Rodgers who indeed looked like he'd just escaped from a London Fashion Week catwalk.

"He certainly would have made up my mind..." sighed Kevin, the gay partner of the Corporation's top sales executive in gold and silver futures.

"Thanks for more or less terrorizing everyone into agreeing to the Genesis Project," Lauren gave Arabella a quick peck on the cheek as she gathered up her materials, stuffing them in her leather messenger bag.

Giving her friend a faux glare, Number One's wife stood lazily, stretching. "Those idiots wouldn't know a worthy project if it came up and bit them an the arse. You learn to herd the board like cattle if you want to get anything done."

Laughing, Lauren sketched a low curtsey. "I bow to you, my Queen."

"Let's go get a cocktail," Arabella suggested, "the afternoon is young."

"I can't," the girl said apologetically, "I'm meeting Miles down at one of the schools where the project is already implemented so he can give me a tour."

Leaning against the boardroom table, her friend looked her over, "My, my dear, are you sure all this money isn't going to Pretty Boy because he is so very pretty? A bit of a crush, perhaps?"

Lauren's jaw dropped. Arabella must be insane, saying something like that? In the Corporation's stronghold? Where everything was filmed and recorded and nuance and jokes were no excuse? "What are you thinking, Arabella?" her voice was sharp and cold. "That isn't funny. Not as a joke. Not at all." She felt a little sad to see the older woman's face pale, two red spots on her cheeks. "You... you want to come with me?" Lauren offered, "Come see the kids?"

Arabella shook her head briskly, "No... uh, things to do. Enjoy."

 

Miles was everything she hoped he'd be. Funny, kind, animated- just as he been on the phone- and he was tall, nearly as tall as Thomas with blonde hair and warm brown eyes. "Let me take you to see our latest project," he said excitedly, gently pulling on Lauren's arm to bring her in to one of the bigger classrooms.

It was an organized melee, if such a thing existed, Lauren thought. Students were painting the walls with all kinds of fantastical figures. There were little groups gathered in a circle playing guitars and another section madly pounding away at keyboards. Someone was projecting all kinds of unusual, stark images of the sea and sky. Looking around, Lauren could feel a frisson of excitement going up her spine, responding the feeling of creativity that was so strong, it made her shiver. "What is all this?" she asked, turning to Miles.

"One of our creation rooms," he explained sweeping out a hand grandly. "The students are hearing the music, and watching the images to put their own vision of what they hear and see... the musicians are creating music based on the art. It's an endless circle of creativity." Laura nodded raptly, the feeling of excitement in the room was wonderful to witness, especially on the faces of usually blasé teenagers.  

"It is amazing, Miles," she said sincerely. Turning to him, she asked, "How many more of these creation rooms can you make with one and a half million pounds?"

The man's jaw dropped. "I thought… I thought we were talking about say, 50,000 pounds," he gasped, "1.5 _million_?" Running his hands repeatedly through his shaggy hair, he grinned.

"Not all at once," Lauren hastened to explain, "but it would start the foundation, and each year you could draw 15% off the principal to use for-" She was cut off by a huge, enthusiastic hug from Miles who was still grinning foolishly.

"I can't begin to tell you–" he choked for a moment, "how many kids we can help with that kind of funding." He eyed her curiously. Lauren sometimes forgot how she looked to others: expensively dressed, certainly, but still with huge, innocent eyes and a friendly, unguarded smile. Lauren had always looked younger than she really was, and it was never more evident than when she was excited like this. 

"How can you command that kind of fundraising when you're so young?" Miles questioned, "You still look like you should _be_ in one of these classes."

Rolling her eyes, Lauren said, "One day I'm sure I will be happy to have my mother's good skin, but at my age, it's very annoying. And the money isn't commanded by me of course, it comes from the Corp-" Lauren thought of the dark, granite building that housed the Corporation and all it's ugly secrets, and swallowed before finishing. "It comes from the generosity of Jaguar Holdings," she paused for a moment. "They're in finance, trust me, it will be good for their souls –" even her inner self was rolling her eyes at that one- "and the ruthless fundraising is actually headed up by Arabella Kingsley, the wife of the CEO of the company." Tucking a blonde curl behind her ear, Lauren shifted. "I am a very small cog in a very large wheel."

Miles instantly shook his head, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Not to me," he said sincerely, "to me you are the guardian angel to these kids." Smiling politely, Lauren stepped away from his grasp. She knew Miles was simply sincere and enthusiastic, but it would never do for Chuck to see it. "Come," Miles offered, "let me take you to lunch." To her amusement, they headed for the school's cafeteria, where the food was just as bad as she had remembered from her own high school experience. But they sat and talked for hours, animatedly discussing new plans of how far they could extend Miles's program.

Finally, Chuck rose from the adjoining table. "Miss Lauren," he said composedly, "it is nearly 5 o'clock, and I believe that Mr. Pine has plans for the two of you this evening?"

Lauren instantly rose from the table, grabbing her messenger bag. Miles stood too, with a rueful smile, holding out his hand. "I'm so sorry Lauren," he apologized sincerely, "I didn't mean to take so much of your time."

"Don't be!" Lauren protested, "It was wonderful to see this, to hear about your vision." She squeezed his hand and firmly pumped it up and down in a goodbye handshake. "I knew we had made the right decision with you."

Smiling, the man bent over and gallantly kissed the knuckles of her left hand, lips grazing her wedding ring. Looking down at it, as if for the first time, Miles released her hand and stepped away smiling apologetically. "Thank you again, Lauren. I will see you at the gala."

 

Thomas moved silently up behind Lauren as she was putting her keys on the hall table. Hands sliding around her waist, he pulled her firmly back against his hard chest. "Oh God!" she gasped, "you can't slink up on me like that! I swear you're part cat!"

He merely chuckled, placing slow, sucking kisses down the side of her neck, enjoying how her pulse raced against his mouth. "It is a rare thing when I return home before you do," he said. It was said without disapproval, but Lauren still felt the weight of it from his sonorous  voice. 

"I'm sorry," she instantly apologized. “I was taking a tour of one of the Genesis classrooms, it's amazing, Thomas!" Her husband looked down at her animated face with a slight smile. "Miles has done so much with so few funds," she continued, "he has over 15 of these classrooms across the city, and with the funding the foundation can bring he can expand it by another hundred in the next two years alone. Isn't that wonderful?"

Thomas paused for a moment looking his wife over carefully. Her excited lavender gaze was as wide and clear as always, her smile unrehearsed. "Then I am quite looking forward to meeting this musical genius of yours at the gala,” he answered.

Lauren’s smile faltered a bit at his cool, blue eyes. Shaking her head, she said, "Miles isn't mine,” she shrugged, “I just picked him out of the selection of the candidates for the funding."

But by then Thomas was unzipping her dress – right there in the entryway! – and nothing more was said. Lauren found herself seeing her husband more at his place of business in the following week than she had for the entire time they’d been together. Many of the foundation’s meetings were held there, and the intimidating Number Two would step silently behind her, taking her in a firm grip on her upper arms or hands landed heavily on her shoulders, pulling her back against him as if re-staking ownership.  As if there were any need, Lauren thought, standing stiffly in front of him. Like anyone at the corporation was the slightest bit confused about who owned her.

Because Lauren never did decide on a dress for the gala, Thomas had chosen for her and had the dress sent to their house the day of the event. Pulling the heavy beaded gown from its nest of tissue paper, the girl gasped. It was exquisite, a beautiful vintage 1920’s dress in the style of the free-drinking flapper girls of the era. Sliding it on, she turned back and forth in front of the huge mirror in their dressing room. The skirt fell to just above her knee, with a saucy slit that ended higher up on her thigh than she was completely comfortable with. But the elegant design of the jade green and silver beading made her feel mildly sultry. Styling her hair and attaching a sequined headband, Lauren was just finishing her make up when Thomas stepped up behind her, hands low on her hips. "Beautiful," he approved with a husky tone, "I knew this would be the perfect dress for you." Lauren smiled shyly looking back at her husband in the mirror’s reflection, admiring how effortlessly elegant he was in his tux.

"It's out of my comfort zone," she admitted, "but I feel quite glamorous, thank you."

Thomas didn't seem to be listening, running his long fingers along her exposed shoulders and the delicate ridge of her collar bones. "Beautiful," he said in the same tone, looking at her with totally filthy intent. "We’d best leave, darling, or I shall remove this from you now." Lauren laughed and nodded, taking his outstretched hand. 

The newly refurbished ballroom in the old mansion they'd found could not be more perfect for the event. Lauren smiled, looking around at the elegant black and white decor and the white coated musicians tuning up. "Everything looks amazing!" said Clara, coming up behind her and flushed and pretty in her own peach colored dress.

"Doesn't it?" said Lauren, "I have a great feeling about tonight, we're going to raise the most money ever! The Genesis Project deserves it, you'll see." She grinned at Clara, squeezing her hand.

The gala was already crowded and underway when a sweating, nervous Miles sought Lauren out. "I feel ridiculous," he groaned, sliding a finger under his white collar and bowtie, "do I look like a complete ass?"

Laughing, the girl shook her head. "You look like a visionary," she assured, "that will inspire all of these wealthy people to pull out their wallets and just start throwing credit cards at you." They both broke into uproarious  laughter, a little giddy with excitement about the potential for the evening.

It was then Lauren heard the voice of her husband behind her along with the irritating tone of the horrible Number One. "Ah," drawled Thomas, "and here he is, our honored guest this evening." Miles's big grin slipped as he  looked up at Thomas, who was quite clearly looming over him.

Lauren hastily made the introductions to both men and Miles shook their hands, flinching slightly at Pine's brutal grip. "I'll just take him over to Arabella," she interceded, "she'll get him ready for his speech. I'll see you later?" She smiled up at Thomas, who leaned down to give her a lingering kiss on the lips. Lauren was startled. The Corporation's cool, collected Second in Command was not prone to public affection, particularly at a Corporation event. But smiling up at him, she sheepishly swallowed her giggle before leading Miles away.

It all went as it had been rehearsed, she thought watching Arabella introduce Miles, who spoke passionately and persuasively about the Genesis Project and the lives of the students it had changed. Lauren didn't realize how often the guest of honor's face turned to hers for support, reinforcement as she nodded encouragingly, but more observant souls did. Her eyelids drooped as her husband's beautiful voice whispered into her ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs escaping from her headband.

"Why don't you take a walk with me, little girl," he purred, "I do believe it's time to remind you who you belong to." Lauren was a bit confused, but obediently followed him out into the hall and down through another set of tall doors. Looking around, she realized it was the old library for the mansion. There were still hundreds of dusty books on the shelves, and her mouth actually watered, wanting to go through the titles and explore the collection. Thomas had other plans, leading her over to a tall reading table and hosting her abruptly onto it and her knees apart, stepping between them pressing his pelvis flush against her's. "My beautiful, incandescent bride," his voice was so deep with arousal that it ran against her throat making the girl shiver and him chuckle approvingly, his lips running along the shell of her ear, "I've been longing to get you out of that dress from the moment you put it on."

Lauren suddenly tried to draw her knees together. "Oh, but Thomas- n-not here, right? The party's just down the hall? Anyone could walk in..." His big, warm hands slid between her knees, pulling them wider again. She could feel the rasp of his calloused fingers travel up her thighs, snagging slightly against the gossamer-fine thread of her stockings. He was pushing the skirt of her dress higher, she realized, then pushing the slit on the side wider when skirt bunched stubbornly by her hips.

One finger slipped past her silk undies to stroke along her center, Lauren gritting back a whimper and shifting anxiously as the offending digit circled her opening. "Now baby, don't be shy..." Thomas's voice ran along her nerve endings, sank into her senses and blocked meaningless things like propriety and common sense. Thomas was always so controlled, he would never do anything that deviated from his perfect image, right? He was still murmuring beautiful filth into her ear, and Lauren shook, her thighs loosening shamefully as she felt the hard heat of her husband's cock pushing against her wet center. One of her beaded straps slid over her shoulder and down one arm, exposing a breast captured in Thomas's heated mouth. 

"Thomas," she barely whispered, "you feel so... I..." his mouth was sucking on her nipple and she gasped, not able to think of what to say next. This felt horribly uncomfortable, perched on this dusty table with the music from the gala reverberating through the wood under her ass. But his sure hands were stroking over her skin and when Lauren heard the rasp of his zipper, she couldn't think of anything but the heat of him, his pulsing head pushing up her passage, slowly this time, ridiculously, gloriously, unfairly slow as each inch of him spread her walls, then pulled back to do it again, squeezing and kissing her breasts. Thomas teased his cock in and out of her, enjoying the tortuous slow stretch of him inside her before pulling it from her again, enjoying how her heels dug into his ass, the pleading noises from her mouth to do it again, come back in her again, and- 

"Are you ready, my juicy little slut?"

Lauren froze at the crude phrasing, but she still felt the tell-tale shaking and clenching inside that told her she was about to come, and-

"Squeeze all those dewy muscles inside that tight cunt of yours, whore. Clench down for your Sir, now..."

They exploded together, Lauren gasping and sinking her teeth his thick shoulder and relishing his groan as she felt his heat flood her. 

"Lauren? Are you in here? Mr Kingsley said you were heading in this direction and-" Miles stopped instantly as he caught the image of a taut, muscular ass stroking slowly into the girl he wanted so much. "Oh, god! I'm sorry! I'll just- yeah, I'll see you back in there so sorry and-"

Thomas pulled himself from her abruptly, making the poor girl jump and gasp. They could hear the door slam behind them as Miles made a hasty retreat. Lauren's head jerked around as Thomas placed his fingers on her mouth. "Not a word, little girl." Irritably handing her a cloth, he ordered, "Tidy yourself," before straightening her dress and hoisting her inelegantly off the table. 

Lauren was so sick with humiliation that she couldn't breathe. Her husband had just fucked her in front of someone else- a stranger, practically- as proof of ownership.

Thomas straightened his tie. "Pull your skirt down," he said, looking towards the door. "They will be announcing the fundraising total soon. Collect yourself and get back in there."

Hands shaking in fury, Lauren did as she was told before heading for the door and leaving without another word.

 

 


	28. You Are Whatever I Tell You To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the cold, collected Number Two begins to question his wife’s behavior, and his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. God, I hate angst. Sorry.
> 
> Misreall- thank you for the snarky “Saint Miles” comment.

Lauren was actually grateful for the following hours that kept her from having to be alone with the bastard who'd made her marry him, though she spent them in a nightmare of pretending everything was fine, while bitterly clenching her thighs together, trying to keep her cruel husband’s seed from trickling down her leg. Because she was naturally shy, there were many embarrassing moments in her life. But never a experience so humiliating that even stepping outside of herself and pretending it was happening to someone else could not distance her enough from the shame she felt. To make matters more unspeakable, Number One was hovering close by, an ugly, knowing smile on his nasty face as he looked between her and an expressionless Thomas- and more worryingly- at Miles before running the visual circuit again. But Mrs. Thomas Pine completed her duties as a gracious hostess and co-chairman of the Corporation's charity, obediently applauding each new bid as the total contribution for the Genesis Project rose higher and higher, even outstripping her original estimate of 1.5 million pounds by a full million more. When the total was announced, Miles's knees actually buckled and he was hoisted up by the eager Kevin, the partner of their sales executive in gold and silver futures. Lauren stood carefully away from the stage, clapping and smiling mechanically. The worst part of it wasn't the humiliation from being caught as Thomas fucked her- more or less- in public, it could almost have been seen as sexy that her husband wanted her too much to wait. She would have cringed but still felt a little daring as they walked out of the library. It was the misery of actually being shocked that Thomas would _do_ such a thing to her. Deliberately. Treat her like a whore- he'd called her that at one point, right?- and being sent out still wet between her legs and seeing Kingsley hovering in the hallway outside, clapping her disgusting spouse on the shoulder in an amused, "boys will be boys" way. Lauren was angry that his act stunned her, knowing after all exactly who she was married to and somehow forgetting his monstrous acts because he'd been so sweet with her recently. Was that all it took? A bouquet of those huge hydrangeas from the flower shop by the church? (Because of course Chuck told Thomas about the place and her momentary interest. Of course.) The hours of kissing her everywhere, murmuring bits and pieces of Shakespeare into her ear, enjoying her little, rapturous shivers?

Applauding again, Lauren refused to look in the direction of either Thomas or Miles. The former didn't deserve one second of her attention, and the latter did not deserve to be punished in some sick way if Thomas somehow thought she was interested in Miles.

Fortunately, their guest of honor seemed quite clear on the awkwardness, and kept away from her, finally waving goodbye with an uncomfortable smile on his way out the door. Lauren's heart sank. She had been so excited to see the new programs implemented in the lower income schools. Now she knew she would never be able to step foot in another classroom if Miles was in it. Forcing a false social smile, she turned and cordially congratulated the rest of the committee, counting down the moments until she would be allowed to leave. The girl just managed to avoid a shudder when Thomas's hand landed on the small of her back. "Let's head home, darling," he said, leaning in close and not missing the way her head instinctively arched away from him.

The ride was silent, Lauren staring out the window and counting her blessings that the man beside didn't initiate conversation. She just wanted to get away from him and scrub herself raw in the shower. She had always felt a strange thrill when Thomas came inside her, enjoying somehow the proof of his attraction to her.  Now, she just felt disgusting. "I'm just going to go have a shower and go straight to bed," she said quickly as they entered the house, praying he wouldn't say anything. "So, good night." The cold Number Two was still silent as she hastily ascended the stairs and Lauren managed to hold the tears at bay until she got into the shower, not quite ripping the dress off of her and leaving it in a pile on the bathroom floor.

But it was only after a few moments of sobbing that the girl felt her fury rise. How fucking dare he? She raged silently, she had never done anything inappropriate or anything to make him look bad. Did Arabella say something to Kingsley? Did he see something on the feed from the meetings?  Did Chuck exaggerate her behavior during the meeting at school? Angrily washing her hair, Lauren dismissed the last thought. She was quite clear that her bodyguard reported every second of her comings and goings to her controlling husband, but she didn't think he would deliberately try to get her in trouble. Lauren jumped and let out a little shriek when the shower door abruptly opened. Thomas was standing there bare chested, still in his tuxedo pants and looking her over coldly. 

"I'm nearly finished," she gritted out, trying to get the shampoo out of her hair as quickly as possible, "then the shower is all yours." Her godamned husband still didn't say anything to her, merely leaning against the shower door and watching her bathe, his polar gaze traveling over her wet skin. Angrily turning her back to him and not realizing Thomas was just as happy with the vision of the suds slipping off her pert ass, Lauren snarled, "Could you please give me a moment? Some privacy?"

"No." 

It was all Thomas said, but it sparked her fury into an inferno, and Lauren's arm clutching the soap raised back to throw it at him, but his hand shot up like a snake, grasping her wrist and holding her immobile. ”L-let go of me, you-“

Instead, he pulled her out of their luxurious walk-in shower, still dripping and furiously thrashing in his grip. “Listen. To. Me.” It was the terrifying emotionless delivery that made Lauren pause, still and alert like a cornered rabbit. One hand slowly reached out for a towel but Thomas briskly pulled her away and into the middle of the chilly room. “I expect you to take tonight as a lesson to the continued good health of that lovesick idiot.”

Lauren stared at him, open-mouthed. It took her a minute to realize he meant Miles. “H- how does- well, you treating me like- like your whore have anything to do with the charity award?”

With a snarl, Thomas yanked her closer, her wet breasts brushing his chest. “Do not pretend to be stupid, little girl. I _own_ you- and you will not disrespect me or my position by throwing yourself at infatuated boys, no matter how pretty they might be."

Lauren knew that her mouth kept gaping open, but she couldn't seem to close it. "Pretty? Wait, what are you-"

"Do you think it reflects well on you- on us- to have _Saint_ Miles fawning over you in front of the entire Corporation? What kind of wife are you?"

The girl was furious, she was shaking with cold, and dripping naked in the middle of their bathroom. But the rage was clearing enough for her to understand that she was the only rational one in the room at the moment. Her normally cool, collected husband was gritting his jaw so tightly she was amazed he hadn't cracked a molar. His eyes were burning with a cold fire and she doubted he knew how hard his grip was on her upper arms. "I would never do anything that showed disrespect to you or your position at the Corporation," Lauren said evenly, precisely. "I have always been very well aware of the consequences of such a thing. It has never even occurred to me. I don't know why you think I've been flirting with Miles. That would be _insane_ - I know Chuck reports everything back to you, and I'm sure you've reviewed the footage from the charity meetings." She laughed bitterly, "Believe me, I'm very aware that there's not a moment of my day that isn't reported back to you. So you know how I behave. You had no reason to humiliate me like that tonight, that disgusting Kingsley leering at me-" her voice broke for a minute, and Lauren paused, furious at herself for not controlling her tears. "Treating me like a whore. Maybe that's who you're used to hanging out with," she said defiantly and unwisely, "but I'm not! I'm your-"  

"You're whatever I tell you to be!" Thomas roared back, pushing her against the wall and to her shock, cupping her center with his other hand. "This is mine!" His face pushed close to hers watching her look away. "And you are mine! And you will do nothing that indicates in any way that you are not my dutiful wife." He couldn't understand why this stupid, ridiculous child was still defying him! Why Lauren wasn't crying and begging his forgiveness? Maybe a sound spanking from her Sir for this disobedient behavior was what she needed-

Thomas was halfway into hauling his naked bride across his lap when he stilled. She was trying to talk to him, make him listen. "T- t- Thomas, stop! Please stop! You're out of control and you're not thinking you know I didn't do anything wrong and if you hit me I can never forgive youwecan'tcomebackfromthatplease!" Setting Lauren back on her feet and backing off abruptly, he watched blankly as she grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself and clutching it there with her arms tightly wound around her, like how she'd held her wedding dress to her body on their pitiful wedding night. 

Ah.

It all came back in a searingly cold rush of clarity, his terrified, weeping wife and putting her to bed, feeling mildly nauseated that the new Mrs. Thomas Pine thought her husband was animal enough to rape her. And now tonight, backing away from him and angrily pushing tears off her face with the heel of her hand, lavender eyes gone gray and bleak as she watched him carefully, waiting for him to... What? Rape her? Hurt her? Running his hand distractedly through his hair, Thomas took in a deep breath, letting it out carefully. What the fuck had just happened to him? "Lauren, just go... go to bed. I have work to finish downstairs." She nodded briefly but didn't move, staring at him until Thomas turned sharply on his heel and left the room.

Hearing the door to his study shut faintly, Lauren’s breath left her in a rush, along with the strength in her legs, sliding abruptly down the wall and sitting on the floor, still clutching her towel. It was good, she nodded firmly, lips pressed together so that no sobs escaped, it was good to see the beautiful, composed mask peel off and show her the face of the monster she married. It was good to remember that.  

 

To her deep relief, Lauren woke alone the next morning, the bed next to her cold and undisturbed. She’d laid awake most of the night, stiff and unmoving on her side of the bed, balanced just on the edge of the mattress to be as far away from her husband’s side of the bed as possible without actually falling off. The house was silent as she hastily showered and dressed, not wanting to be caught bare or defenseless again. But the only person there when she finally, reluctantly descended the stairs to the main floor was her bodyguard, perched calmly on his uncomfortable chair in front of the stairs where he could see the entire house. 

“Hey, Chuck...” Lauren managed. “What’s up?”

Putting his phone away and regarding her calmly, the older man replied, “Good morning Miss Lauren. Mr Pine has tasked me with informing you that he will be away on business for some time.”

Folding her arms awkwardly, the girl huffed out sort of a chuckle, shocked that she felt equal parts relieved and heartsick.

 

It was, in fact, over two weeks before the Second in Command of Jaguar Holdings was set to return home again. Lauren did all the things she would normally do. Run in the mornings. Practice. There was plenty of time to practice, no distractions to interrupt her. Her sore undercarriage healed, no more little gasps when she sat down too quickly. Sometimes, she would get Chuck to sit with her at the cafe and drink his black coffee. Thomas only called once, about ten days after he’d disappeared “on business.”

”How are you, darling?”

Lauren’s hand tightened on her cellphone. He sounded just the same, her husband. Calm, composed, almost indifferent. “I’m fine. Where are- um, how are you?”

”Quite well, thank you,” Thomas was politely distracted, she could hear the shuffle of papers and a few murmured instructions before he returned to their conversation. “Negotiations are taking longer than expected, I will be here another week or so.”

Waiting a moment for him to mention where he was, Lauren’s mouth tightened when she realized he wasn’t going to tell her. “Oh. Okay.”

There was silence, she could hear the faint crackle of their connection, his breath. “Your... performances,” Thomas said finally, “the next series begins in a month or so, correct?”

Lauren thought of what she wanted to say to her husband, her beautiful, terrifying, unsettling and addictive lover. “I miss you? I miss you in bed with me? Were you really going to hit me that night? Are you sleeping with the Corporation prostitutes?” Instead, she said, “Yeah, Rachmaninov. It’s really beautiful work.”

More silence, then Thomas let out an exhausted grunt. “Excellent. Chuck is looking after you?”

”As always.” She just managed to keep the bitterness out of her tone.

”Very good." Another shuffling of papers. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

”Thomas? I...” it slipped out before Lauren could stop it. 

“Yes?” his voice, his lovely, sonorous voice was flat, almost professional.

”Um... have a safe trip back.” Lauren hung up the phone before Thomas could hear her cry.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on some of the responses here from our lovely community, I wanted to clarify that Thomas never has any intention of beating Lauren. In his jealous idiocy, he's thinking she's disobeying him - her Sir - and is thinking a spanking is in order for her defiance in refusing to agree with his stupid opinion. I could never write a man who beats women as any kind of a hero, outside of the set realms of dom/sub. Lauren is trying to get through to him that this would not "that" kind of spanking. Also, that he's being an asshole.
> 
>  
> 
> A chapter without smut. What the hell kind of writer HAVE I BECOME? I’ll make it up to you. And thank you for all the lovely, lovely conversation recently! You are a joy to write for.


	29. How I Feel Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas knocks some sense into his own, thick skull. Lauren meets the Grey Man. Arabella meets her reckoning. Chuck drinks coffee.

 

_**From the gifted, diabolical brain of our sweet Archy 3001** _

 

When the Corporation's Number Two did return to London, his first stop was not home, though to his chagrin, that was Thomas's immediate impulse. As the wheels of the jet touched the tarmac, his first thought was going home to undress Lauren, putting her on their bed and kissing her all over very slowly until she made those sweet pleading noises, lifting her hips shyly in invitation. He thought of where she would be at that moment-practicing at the rehearsal hall? Walking through another old section of the city? Firmly pulling himself back from his unseemly eagerness, Pine crisply instructed his driver to take him to the Corporation's headquarters.

Lauren didn't let herself think about why she woke early that morning, tidying up the already spotless house and trying on a couple of different outfits. She'd had an idea on when his flight was set to return, but when she didn't see him she simply assumed it was running late. By that evening, the girl ate the carefully prepared meal she'd made by herself, finishing off the first bottle of wine and starting on the second. And by midnight, Lauren was in bed staring out the window and wondering if this was her life from now on.

 

_______________________________

 

Lauren never could have so successfully summed up her personality as well as Thomas had, but it was true. She was made to love, and her wide circle of friends and loved ones had shrunk to a narrow focus of primarily her husband, her bodyguard, and her now and forever absent best friend. The loneliness was crushing. It was one of the reasons she had agreed when Arabella had wanted to take her out to lunch a couple days before. Even though it was to that same strange bar where the stares of the men had made her so uncomfortable that first time. In fact, a minuscule frown crossed Chuck's bland expression when she told him to take her there. But he merely grunted in agreement and started the car. Arabella stood and waved from their table as Lauren came in. As usual, the older woman was a drink or two ahead of her friend, bright pink spots on her cheeks, flushed and vivacious. "No martinis this time until I get some actual food!" joked Lauren, shaking her head at the martini cart and asking for a menu. After she ordered a tempting array of tapas plates, she raised her brow at Arabella. "You're not eating?

The woman raised her glass mockingly. "A liquid lunch," she said, "it's how I keep my girlish figure."

Lauren laughed. "You know you have a perfect body," she teased, "you could eat 16 cakes and it wouldn't make a dent."  Even carefully testing each word before it left her mouth for safety and blandness, it was nice to be out and chatting with someone. Lauren begin to relax a little bit and tried a new kind of martini, sipping it blissfully. "I've never been one much for anything other than wine," she confided, "but this is freaking delicious." Arabella was her most sparkling butterfly-like self, her tinkling laughter making diners around them look up from their business lunches and smile. Lauren noticed one booth of men in particular spent most of their time staring at their table. Quickly looking back as one of the men caught her eye and smiled, Lauren asked, "Why do you like it here so much? It feels like such a boy's club."

"It is," agreed Arabella, signaling for another drink. "It took me a long time to be worth enough money to get a seat here. I'm not letting go of it. Let them stare. Some of these arseholes wouldn't speak to me for years, acting like I was dirt under their shoe."

"That makes sense, I don't blame you," Lauren said thoughtfully, "it's satisfying, isn't it? Rubbing their noses in your success."

Her friend paused, staring at her. "You mean my husband's money, don't you?"

"No..." Lauren finished her martini, looking sadly into the bottom of the glass. It would not do to have another. Chuck, and whatever thug was currently minding Arabella were seated quite close to them and she did not want Thomas receiving a report about his drunken wife. She shuddered a little. Especially not now. Bringing herself back to the moment, she finished, "It doesn't take just money, and you know that. It takes connections. Intelligence, and you're fierce, honey. I wouldn't cross you. I'm guessing a couple of these expensively suited assholes here have learned that."

Arabella was utterly still, staring at her. To Lauren's concern, it looked like the older woman had tears in her eyes. "You mean that. Don't you?"

Frowning, the girl nodded. "Of course. I was raised in a Fortune 500 company family-" Lauren chuckled bitterly, "though I have no idea what Frank's done to my grandfather's business these days. But money isn't enough. You can't buy your way to the top in circles like these."

Nearly knocking her off her chair, Arabella suddenly reached over, giving her a huge and awkward hug. "No one's ever said that to me before. No one's even thought it. I was just the whore who married well."

Flinching and hoping the woman's voice wasn't loud enough to carry, Lauren settled her in her chair again. "No, you're not. You're the woman who's handled Jaguar Holding's Number One for-" she tried not to shudder, "for what, ten years? A decade of Mrs. Ben Kingsley? You're the queen, 'Bella."

Their warm moment was ruined when the men from the "staring booth," rose and walked by them, eyes fixed on the two women the entire time. The shortest, a grey-faced man with grey hair, and an expensive grey suit stopped next to Arabella, bending to take her hand. "You look lovely, Mrs Kingsley. I hope you are well." From the corner of her eye, Lauren could see her friend's "minder" growl and put his hand in his jacket. Chuck's arm shot out like a snake's to block him.

"Easy..." Chuck murmured, and Lauren could suddenly see why Thomas had assigned the man to her. He was utterly lethal, body straight and leaning forward like an arrow, eyes moving calmly between her, a flustered Mrs. Kingsley and the grey man currently kissing her knuckles.

"And this must be Thomas's new wife?" he turned to her, and Lauren swallowed. His eyes were dead. Like a rattlesnake's. "A pleasure to meet you, dear. I'm Colin Martinsson, an... associate of your husband's." One of the men with him chuckled but quickly turned it into a cough. 

Lavender gaze moving between her suddenly shaking friend, Chuck and the Grey Man, Lauren ignored his outstretched hand but favored him with an insincere social smile- she was getting good at those- and said, "I see. Well, a pleasure to meet you, Mr Martinsson. 'Bella, honey. We need to get going. You know Thomas and Ben are expecting us."

"Oh, I thought they were out of town?" the Grey Man said innocently.

Her insides suddenly felt like they'd been shoved in a subzero meat locker. "They're just getting home," Lauren lied pleasantly. "Goodbye now." Pulling her friend up by her arm and Arabella's minder suddenly taking her other one, Lauren turned her back on the men and began walking an unsteady Arabella calmly out of the dining room. Looking behind her briefly, she found Chuck locked in a staring match with the Grey Man. She'd never seen that expression on his face, and she was grateful for it. "Chuck?" Lauren managed. He was at her side in a moment, following them out of the room. Bundling Arabella into her car with a hasty kiss on the cheek, she was about to pull back when the woman grabbed her hand. 

"Colin. He's-" Arabella looked to see where their bodyguards were standing, "he's much nicer than he seems. Please don't say anything- no need to upset our husbands, correct?"

Lauren sadly shook her head. "Sweetheart, I'm pretty sure one or both of these guys has already sent a message. Maybe with video and audio, I don't know." Her heart twisted to see the look of terror on her friend's face. "'Bella, don't worry, it wasn't our fault- we didn't do anything wrong." Reluctantly releasing her hand as the minder shut the car door, Lauren stepped back, Chuck just to her left shoulder. "Well, that could have gone better," she sighed.

The car was silent on the drive home, under they were pulling up to the door. Chuck got out to briskly escort her inside while the other Corporation shooter- someone new- stayed in the car. After quickly checking the house, the big man came back down to the kitchen where Lauren was pouring her second glass of wine. "There is a reason," he finally intoned, looking out the window into the back garden, eyes moving restlessly, "that dining at Connaught Bar is ill-advised."

Swallowing a gulp of her pinot grigio, Lauren nodded, "Because psycho Scandinavian guy hangs out there? Is that why everyone was staring at us?"

Chuck sighed slightly, folding his hands before him. "Yes, he is deeply out of favor with Jaguar Holdings. He holds court at the Connaught, and the wives of the two highest men in our organization dining there is... unsuitable. It gathers the wrong sort of attention."

"You think?" choked out Lauren. "What was Arabella thinking? Jesus! Thomas and her creepy as fuck husb- Kingsley will kill us!"

Stepping closer, he carefully took her shaking hand. "No, Miss Lauren. This was none of your doing. I will make that quite clear." Even Chuck's stone exterior cracked a little when she raised her heartbroken gaze to his.

"But what about Arabella? She doesn't deserve what-" she choked a little, "-what that sick bastard will do to her."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," he replied mechanically. "Why don't you go settle your nerves, relax for a moment?" Nodding distractedly, Lauren climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, and he heard the frantic strains of "Ravel: La Valse" tearing from her cello. After playing for an hour, her nerves settled and her left hand painfully sore from the fingerwork, Lauren came back downstairs again to start dinner. Her bodyguard was just finishing a call. "Yes, sir. I'll tell her. Very good." Hanging up, Chuck nodded to her politely. "I have apprised Mr Pine of the situation, and he is requesting that you do not associate with Mrs Kingsley until he returns."

Lauren froze, hand on the refrigerator door. "That was Thomas?" Instantly despising herself for being hurt that he spoke to Chuck and not her, she forced herself to nod. "Sure. Not a problem." Her back to him as she was pulling out some pasta, she forced herself to casually ask, "Did he mention when he was coming home?"

"Yes, Miss Lauren. He's returning Thursday, around 11am, I believe."

Hating that her bodyguard knew when her husband was returning when Thomas couldn't be bothered to tell her himself, she nodded again. "Okay. Thanks Chuck, I'm in for the night, if you want to head out." Lauren wouldn't turn around and risk him seeing her hurt and disappointment, so she missed the quick flash of pity on his face.

"I have no other obligations, Miss Lauren, if you would prefer I stayed."

Lauren's brow rose. Chuck _never_ offered to stay. He simply did as he was told with the same level of polite disinterest as he always had. Surreptitiously wiping her running nose, she mumbled, "Thanks, Chuck. I'm good. But... you know. Thanks anyway. Goodnight."

 

___________________________________

 

And now, it was 2am on Friday morning, 15 hours or so after Thomas returned to London and his bitter wife finally heard his key in the door, his quiet conversation with Chuck and his footsteps on the stairs to their bedroom. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe evenly, her back to the door. She could see the faint light from the hallway under her closed lids, but her slow inhales and exhales didn't falter. The girl could hear his deliberate tread come close to the bed and stop, Thomas likely examining her. Then in silence, he went into their dressing room, flipping on the light as he shut the door. Rubbing the tears seeping from her eyelids on her 1,200 thread count pillow, Lauren reminded herself. It was good that she knew who he really was. A monster. Nothing else, just a monster.

 

Waking late the next morning, she rubbed her crusty eyelids and groaned silently. Did she really finish off that second bottle of wine? Nonetheless, Lauren's nose twitched when she smelled bacon wafting up the stairway. Chuck never cooked. He had started their gigantic stainless coffee maker for her once but even that was clearly something that made him uncomfortable. That could only mean Thomas was still here. Sighing, the girl mumbled, "Let's get it over with," showering quickly and pulling on a dress. One she knew he didn't like. But a dress, as required.

"Good morning, darling." Her husband's back was to her as Lauren entered the room, but she still shivered a little to hear his voice, _The_ Voice, warmer, the vowels almost caressing her. "Did you sleep well?"

Thrown off a little by the pleasantry, she awkwardly poured a cup of coffee, "Just fine, thank you. Um... don't you have to be at the office today?" He turned around then, and Lauren forced herself to look him in the eye. Goddamn him, he was so beautiful, her dark husband. Freshly shaved, in a crisp, light blue shirt and sapphire tie that matched his eyes.

"Not right away," Thomas said casually, "I finished most of the urgent issues that couldn't wait when I returned yesterday."

Cautiously, Lauren wondered if that was his was of explaining his absence all day. "Oh." Not sure what else to say, she took another sip of her sacred, life-giving caffeine. She'd think more clearly when the caffeine hit. She would figure out why her husband was bothering to be nice to her, to explain things. Meanwhile, Thomas was plating up breakfast- the lovely, lovely bacon, waffles drowning in butter and far more syrup than was necessary- just the way she liked them- and sliced fruit. Puzzled, Lauren took her seat. Why was he bothering? "Thank you?" she said. His gaze was steady as he smiled at her briefly.

"Is that a question?" he asked as he took his seat, putting his napkin over his trousers.

"Um..." Lauren couldn't think of what to say. "I'm, um, sorry. Not enough caffeine yet. Thank you for breakfast." She really wished he'd go away so she could truly appreciate the waffles, eating in front of this man who was more or less a stranger again was very uncomfortable. But her unfairly handsome spouse seemed quite relaxed, finally finishing his food and sitting back in his chair, regarding her.

"How have you been, Lauren?"

She looked up, puzzled. "Excuse me?"

Thomas leaned forward, resting his elbows on the antique farmhouse table. "How. Have. You. Been?" Despite more or less spelling out the words, his expression was still pleasant, his eyes warm.

'What did he want to hear?' she thought, trying to come up with an answer. "I'm... fine, Thomas, thank you. Everything's been fine." Too late she realized he probably meant that disastrous lunch at the Connaught. "B- besides the lunch thing. You know, with Arabella."

"Ah," he said thoughtfully, "that." Thomas watched the top of his bride's head as she bowed it over her plate. She'd not looked at him directly once since walking into the room. Not that he deserved it. "I am sorry that happened to you."

Now, her head shot up, those lovely eyes wide. "What?"

Thomas spoke slowly, "You did nothing wrong, darling. You knew nothing about the Corporation issues with that arse Martinsson. But Arabella did." His expression hardened until he watched her tense up again. Forcing himself to relax, he continued, "Do you remember that trip to Denmark, when you accompanied me?" He was touched at how quickly his sweet wife's face lightened as she smiled.

"Yes, of course. It was wonderful."

He nodded. "Martinsson's group was the one who lost the bid on the company takeover we negotiated there. It is not the first time this has happened. He is a fool, but he refuses to stop attempting to challenge us."

Lauren frowned, "He must be very dangerous."

Pleased that she understood, Thomas nodded. "He is not someone I would have ever wished you to meet. I don't understand Arabella's carelessness, but-"

"Please don't let Number One hurt her!" Lauren burst out. "I understand why she wanted to go there- it wasn't to start something, I'm sure of it."

Leaning back and folding his arms, Thomas watched her, brow raised. "Explain."

"She... it's her 'screw you' move." Lauren tried to make her amused spouse understand. "Arabella didn't come from much- you know that- and it's her way of showing all the rich, snooty power types that she's just as good, on top of the heap." Waving her hands, she struggled, "You know, the 'screw you' move." Her spouse was smothering a smile, she could tell, but at least Thomas wasn't cold or angry at her.

"I see," he answered gravely, "but while we are dealing with the possible repercussions of this encounter, I would like you to avoid spending time with her." Lauren nodded, looking down again and fork making patterns in her little pool of syrup. "You, however," Thomas continued, "need to get ready. Your afternoon is a busy one."

Ah, now his girl was interested. "With what? Did I miss something? I'm sorry, I'll-" Lauren stopped instantly when his big, warm hand landed on her restless one, stilling her. 

"You haven't neglected anything, darling. But the initial shipment of instruments and sound equipment are being delivered to the first primary school on the new Genesis Project schedule. I know you'll want to be there to help sort it out." Thomas felt the pain that had been twisting his gut for the last two weeks return at the look of shock, then anxiety on Lauren's lovely face. She could never hide her emotions.

"But... I... that seems like a very bad idea, Thomas, and I have lots to do... uh..." looking around the spotless, sunny kitchen, she finished lamely, "... um, here."

He took a deep sigh, "Lauren. You did nothing wrong that night. I was not..."

'...in my right mind?' Thomas thought, 'Insanely jealous and a stupid bastard?'

"I was not being fair to you. I believe it is important for you to be there, at least for the start of this new chapter for the project. You deserve to see your hard work put into play." His sweet wife was staring at him as if he'd stripped naked and started rolling in the syrup while quoting the entire Coldplay music catalogue. Thomas gave a rueful chuckle. "You think I've gone mad, darling?" Her pretty mouth open, Lauren tried to shake her head. "You do," he nodded. "But... I am quite aware the music is your passion, not _Saint_ Miles." Lauren still looked mildly puzzled, something he had not let himself see that night- her genuine confusion that he thought she'd be attracted to someone else. How had he not let himself see that?

Lauren felt brave enough to laugh a little. "Saint? The man never stops talking. But it's such an amazing project..." Her wistful tone twisted the fist around his guts a little harder. When had she started making him feel... _things_ again? He'd shot men with nary a twinge. And now her sad little face made him shift uncomfortably.

"Then it's settled," Thomas said calmly. "Chuck will be picking you up at noon, so you should get ready." His bride was still watching him cautiously, as if waiting for him to revert to the furious lunatic he'd been that night. "Darling?"

She shook herself a little, "Hmmm?"

His beautiful face was set in it's usual lines of urbane amusement, but Thomas's eyes were cobalt, almost twinkling. "Go get ready." The girl was gone before he could blink, before suddenly rushing back into the room and taking her plate and silverware to the sink, smiling awkwardly and racing back out again, like an excited teenager.

 

____________________________________

 

It was bad enough that Thomas had conducted business in Costa Rica over the last 18 days while drowning in self-disgust. His relief at getting away from his wife was palpable, shocked at his complete lack of self-control. What had made him act that way? Like a jealous, lovesick fool? And her humiliation... Lauren's face was pale for the rest of the night of the fundraiser after he'd sent her out from their tryst like a... just like a whore. Even in his anger, he'd admired her composure, calmly applauding and interacting and shaking hands with the wealthy who there to assuage their conscience with a fat donation. What he couldn't remember were the moments between her escaping for a shower at home and when he was hauling her over his lap to spank some sense into her. Lauren's desperate efforts to make him hear her. He was so shocked at his lack of control, he couldn't even bear to be in the same room with her.

He'd tried to throw himself into his work in Costa Rica, it was a sensitive deal and required a great deal of cunning. But his wife's alternate expressions of heartbreak and fury kept rising in his thoughts at the most irritating and inopportune of times. And her confusion when he'd accused her of wanting that lovesick idiot. Thomas knew Lauren would be appalled if she knew just how expressive and open she was- at least to him. Everything she felt fluttered across that lovely face of hers. It was clear she'd had no interest in the man. But he'd been so _angry_. 

"You need to let off some steam, my boy."

it was eight days into negotiations and Thomas had nearly come across the table at the smirking CEO of the finance company they were buying. The company ostensibly focused on land development loans for most of the African companies, but their real expertise was laundering money for illegal diamond trading, used for funding military conflict in the Sudan, the Congo, Sierra Leone, Liberia and Angola. After eight days of dealing with the man's endless bragging, drug and alcohol use, Number Two was ready to simply pull out his gun and shoot the arrogant idiot in the head.

Kingsley was watching him carefully as everyone else filed out of the boardroom. "You are far too tense. There's a delightful club just full of obliging young ladies close to here- I've dropped by three times this week."

Thomas forced the mildly nauseating image of a naked Number One out of his head. With a filthy smile, he said, "Ah, I've found my own favorite... dungeon. You know I prefer to work alone, Ben."

The older man burst into laughter, clapping him warmly on the shoulder, "It's good to have you back."

The first thought that went through Thomas's mind was, 'I'm nothing like you, old man. _Nothing_.' But sitting alone in the dim boardroom, he frowned. But he was, that's what he'd always wanted, wasn't it? 

Jaguar Holdings Second in Command did not go to a dungeon or sex club. He in fact when back to his hotel, as he had done every night. Sitting in a chair on his balcony, one hand swirling a glass of Jameson, he found himself thinking for the dozenth time about what Lauren was doing at that moment. He pictured her glowing skin after he'd given her a string of orgasms, or her laugh when he'd chase her up the stairs. How her long legs looked while running... Sighing and rubbing his forehead, Thomas got up to head back to the hotel suite's desk and go through more company files for the closing.

It had all come together the night he finally returned home, standing over his wife who was pretending to be asleep in their bed, when Thomas realized she would be just like Arabella in a few years if he didn't change. Dead-eyed, alcoholic because actually killing herself would hurt too many other people. He was never going to let her go. He knew that. Even if it was possible, he just... couldn't. But he couldn't let her become like Arabella.

 

____________________

 

So, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, Thomas cleaned up the breakfast debris as his wife excitedly called from the door, "I'm leaving, see you tonight! Thank you!"

Lauren was still glowing when he returned home that night, a huge smile she couldn't seem to wipe off her face as she talked- at his urging- about the 8 year old who'd picked up a violin and started playing an old French tune without a hitch, or her classmate from the Caribbean who immediately began teaching some of the other students how to play the drums. How she'd plopped a little 5 year old on her lap and began showing her the fingering for a simple song on the keyboard. 

"You should have seen them, Thomas! They're so smart, cheeky monkeys! Two nearly started painting on the wall before I managed to get the roll of paper put up..." she talked quickly, hands waving and laughing nearly every other sentence. His Lauren at her most lovely. Finally slowing down as she realized she'd been talking through the entire dinner, the girl flushed a bit. "Sorry, I didn't mean to talk so long..."

"I enjoyed it," Thomas interrupted, "I'm intrigued by their response. I'd thought they'd be more hesitant at first."

"Oh, no," said Lauren, putting a chocolate eclair on a plate for him. "Children are naturally drawn to music, to art. If you give them the tools and stand back, they'll show you what they need. And you can learn so much about them by what they create. It's beautiful."

"As are you," he said without thinking.

She paused, looking up with an embarrassed smile. "Thomas..." But he wasn't teasing her. Thomas was leaning back in his chair, manspreading as usual and looking so handsome in his dress shirt and tie, one finger running over his upper lip, hiding a slight smile. Gathering the bit of self-confidence beginning to grow again that day, Lauren walked over to his side of the table and sat carefully on his lap, putting her arms around his neck. He smelled so good, her husband, his warmth familiar and comforting. After that horrible night, she'd never thought she would ever touch him willingly again. "Thank you..." she whispered into his neck. As his arms went around her, Lauren drew in a shaky sigh.

Thomas gently kissed her neck, her cheek, his wife's mouth and under her ear where she loved it so much. He finally allowed himself what he'd been fantasising about since he'd left, moving his mouth and tongue over every inch of her as he carried her upstairs, removing each article of clothing slowly until she was naked and moaning on their bed, her small hands stroking over his back and arms, sliding up to cup his face and kissing him. Rising on his knees, Thomas smiled reassuringly, looking her over as he removed his pants and shirt. Lifting her leg up and putting it over his shoulder, Thomas ran the tip of his tongue up her smooth skin, groaning low in his throat at the taste of her, the feel of her under his mouth. Then, with a dark smile that made Lauren clench in anticipation, he dove into her center, sucking most of her wet lips and clitoris into his mouth with a lewd slurping sound. Her hands left his shoulders and Thomas knew she was covering her face, anticipating Lauren's embarrassed giggle that came next. "Don't be shy, darling," he soothed, sliding two fingers inside her and enjoying how those satiny walls clutched them as he stroked the rough pads of his fingertips along them. "You're so silky here, you taste sweet and slightly salty."

"Oh, Thomas, don't-"

Ignoring her, he used his deepest, more persuasive tone. "And when I press against you, just so..."

"OH! God!" Lauren hated his pleased chuckle as she came instantly on his fingers.

"...you flood me in your slick. Delicious, utterly." Her cruel husband wrung two more orgasms out of Lauren's body with his mouth and fingers before sliding up her shaking body, wrapping her weak legs around his waist. "I want to be inside you, sweet Lauren."

She could feel his thick head, already wet with his leaking tip pressed against the opening of her passage. Why was he waiting? Lauren moaned when his cock pulsed against her. "Please Thomas..."

"Invite me inside you."

Lauren looked up at him then, searching his face. This was different, even than giving her usual consent. This was... what? She was agreeing to more somehow, but the girl wasn't thinking clearly, so she nodded instead, raising up on her elbows and kissing him. "Please be inside me, Thomas. Sir."

With a pleased growl, he did so, plowing through her cunt eagerly, over and over while he listened to his wife's sweet moans and feeling the stretch and pull of her around him, circling his hips to gain access to every inch inside her. "God, the way you shape around me," Thomas groaned, "it's heaven. Your heat and silk..." he began thrusting harder, forgetting he might be hurting her, forgetting it had been nearly three weeks and only thinking how good it felt to be inside his Lauren again, how perfect she was and how he'd never felt home inside another woman. Not like this. Nothing like this. He didn't realize he'd said that out loud until she hugged him harder.

"I've missed you too," Lauren managed to gasp, "how good you feel. How I feel safe."

Thomas paused at that for a moment. Safe? She felt safe with him? With another burst of need, he pushed harder, faster up her channel and whispered into her ear, how beautiful she was, how lovely and good. How he adored her sweet cunt. Her breasts... squeezing them in appreciation. Her heart... Thomas slowed then, painfully slow and simply rotating his hips to keep his cock embedded inside her as he kissed Lauren's chest tenderly, right over her rapidly beating heart. And that was how they both suddenly came, surprising even themselves as they gasped and arched against each other, arms and legs wrapped tightly. It was in that final, perfect moment when Thomas's face was buried in the pillow next to hers when he found the backbone to turn his face slightly, lips brushing her cheek and said, "I am sorry, Lauren. I'm sorry." And then she squeezed him even tighter, rocking slightly until they fell asleep, him still buried inside her.

 

**_From my beautiful[TheLeftHand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLeftHand/pseuds/TheLeftHand)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's lists upon lists of work I should be doing... but these last few chapters made me so happy to write and even happier to read your responses. It's not smooth sailing yet, but you expected that, didn't you? Thank you as always for reading!


	30. An American Thanksgiving And A British Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas and Lauren enjoy an "Expatriate's Thanksgiving." And each other.
> 
> I've stayed away from any specific time references in "Reluctant Bride," but I couldn't let this one go. You know Lauren would be the one to blare endless Christmas carols and wildly overdecorate. Or maybe that's just me. It's one of the very few things Lauren and I have in common, though I wish that list included Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also the first chapter of "The Mistletoe Chronicles," my series of holiday one-shots from some of my stories. If you have a favorite that you'd like to see, please suggest them. Misreall wants a Christmas "hoe hoe hoe" for Robert and Arianna from "Dr. Laing's Loose End," my very first story and a "High Rise" tale, so that'll be next.

The holidays were rapidly approaching, and instead of the excitement Lauren usually felt at the thought of decking the house in greenery and lighting every square inch, this year she simply felt a vague sense of anxiety. Thomas had been everything that was sweet- and occasionally filthy and dominant- since the ugly episode at the fundraiser. But he was still distant in many ways, disappearing abruptly for "business meetings," and overnight trips that did not include her. Lauren hadn't even mentioned Thanksgiving to him, not sure if Thomas was even aware of the holiday in the middle of his busy work schedule, and anyway, it was an American one, after all. To her pleased surprise, several American expatriates with the symphony invited her out for a "Thanksgiving abroad" dinner, but she was hesitant to bring it up to Thomas. She'd been so careful to keep her distance from anyone that could be misconstrued as being a friend.

But Thomas brought the day up first. "Thursday is your Thanksgiving, I believe," he said. They were sitting at the little café in the park after their run that morning, Lauren sipping her overpriced chai tea and enjoying the weak sunshine on her face. It had been unseasonably warm and London that year, and she wondered if they would have a white Christmas.

"Um, yes?" she said, watching him smile behind those blasted ray bans of his. God, the man was sexy… Lauren thought, smiling at him a little mindlessly. The night before had been spent in Thomas's "fun dungeon," and if it was possible to have a sexual hangover, Lauren was feeling it.

"Is that a question?" Thomas teased her gently, smirking. Of course he was aware that she was still cock drunk, the conceited bastard.

"No!" Lauren flushed "I- I mean, yes, it is Thanksgiving."

Thomas had been checking messages on his phone and he put it away in the pocket of his windbreaker, examining her. "I believe we should go to dinner," he said calmly, "it seems a bit overboard to cook a full turkey dinner for the two of us. However, Nora's across the park does offer what they billed as a 'Chicago style' Thanksgiving dinner, whatever that might entail."

Lauren shook her head, laughing. "I'm not sure either," she confessed. Sobering a bit, she blurted out, "There's some of the American members of the symphony that, uh, were putting together what they called an 'Expatriate Thanksgiving.' Would…" she floundered for a moment. This was madness. Thomas would not want to get to know any of the musicians better than he did, and frankly, it was a terrible idea. What in the hell was wrong with her?

"That sounds interesting," Thomas interrupted, "why don't you RSVP for the two of us. Just let me know what time." His thin lips stretched in amusement as her mouth dropped open. Gently putting a forefinger under her chin and shutting it again with a snap, Thomas kindly added, "It sounds like great fun."

 

Apparently, the Americans wanted to go 'full scale fancy' with the Thanksgiving dinner. So Lauren was dressing in her off-shoulder black velvet dress with a full Fraser plaid skirt as Thomas arrived home from an early meeting. She looked up to see him leaning against the door to their dressing room, arms folded and watching her in amusement as she hopped from one foot to the other, ungracefully trying to get her stiletto heel on. Lauren was not particularly adept in high heels, but Thomas had gifted her with these Louboutins, and she wanted to thank him by wearing them to the dinner. "Lovely…" Her husband growled, azure gaze sweeping up and down her body appreciatively. "I must dress you up more often darling, it is taking every ounce of my self-control to not throw you on the bed and have you for dinner instead of the turkey."

Infuriated to hear a little girlish giggle slip past her lips, Lauren flushed. "Now you're just teasing me," she said nervously, "will you be ready to leave in about half an hour?" Of course he will be, she thought crossly, Thomas calm and perfectly put together. She was still pink-cheeked and panting a little from wedging herself into her dress and trying to zip it up.

Thomas stepped forward with a dark little smile. Making a twirling motion with his fingers, he urged her to "Turn around, darling. I believe you have missed a snap or two on your dress." 

"Oh?" Lauren turned her back to him, "I thought I'd gotten everyth-"

She was cut off with a groan as the tight bodice of her dress was rapidly unzipped and Thomas's long fingers sliding inside, squeezing the silk cups of her bra appreciatively. "So lovely," he purred," it seems a shame that you should be wearing undergarments with this pretty dress." Lauren's blonde head dropped back with a groan against his suited shoulder. She couldn't watch the avaricious expression on her husband's beautiful face as he greedily groped her breasts.

"T– Thomas?" she squeaked, "We are bringing one of the appetizers, and, yeah…" How could he derail her so completely? "So we need to be there on time?"

He huffed, slipping his hands from her dress and carefully pulling the zipper straight, fastening the little hook and eye at the top and smoothing his big, warm hands down the bodice of her dress and straightening it. "There is one detail left unattended here," Thomas was purring again, that low rumble in the back of his throat that always made Lauren think of the creature the Corporation was named for. "I believe you are overdressed, darling." Thomas held out one hand. "I require your knickers." He so enjoyed watching his sweet wife's eyes widen in alarm. "Are you disobeying your sir?" he asked sternly. Lauren shook her head silently, still staring at him with those enormous lavender eyes of hers. "Then pull up your skirt like a good girl…" he ordered calmly, "and take off that little scrap of silk and give it to me." Pine waited, eyebrow raised as he watched his bride's mobile face go from shock to apprehension to shyness, already biting that pink lower lip of hers. He unkindly enjoyed her internal battle, as it occurred to him that while he'd torn off his sweet girl's knickers many times in his eagerness to get at her, this was the first time he'd required them from her before they had gone out for the evening. Thomas could practically hear the poor girl's dilemma. With a little sigh, Lauren raised her full skirt with a crinkling sound from the her crinoline petticoat and began shifting her hips back and forth to free her undies from their position around her hips. Bracing her hand on the counter, she caught the silk ruffles with the tip of her Louboutin and pulled them free, awkwardly handing them to Thomas, flushed a bright pink. His hand gently raised her chin and Lauren shivered a little in appreciation at the look of fond approval on his face. "Such a good girl for your Sir," he praised, kissing the tip of her nose, "let's be off."

Groaning internally, she forced a weak smile. She was not clever enough to pull this off. She knew it, and there was no way her horrible spouse would not continue to torment her. 

 

Lauren was, of course, correct. Thomas already had his Jaguar running and fully heated up for her as she entered the garage. "We wouldn't want you to be chilly, darling," he smiled solicitously, with just a tinge of malice. Just as he helped her into the car, he crisply ordered, "Pull up your skirt before you sit down." His sweet bride gulped.

"W- what? Why?" The girl backed against the passenger side of the sports car as Thomas leaned in, enjoying using his height to loom over her. 

"Because," he said calmly, precisely, "I want your bare arse on the heated seat of my car. I want to smell your sweet kitty and see you rub yourself all over the leather and perfume it with your scent." He'd certainly said filthier things to Lauren, but she gasped like a maiden aunt. Thomas's beautiful eyes narrowed a fraction. "Be my good girl, now." With a look of despair, the girl pulled up her full skirt again and hesitantly slid into the passenger seat. "Very good, darling," Thomas sounded calm, but Lauren could hear a grin behind it.  _Damn_  this man!

As they drove, Thomas kept up a light conversation about other American holidays, one hand on the wheel and the other-  _damn_  it!- on Lauren's thigh, slowly stroking her skin and moving upwards. She pressed her lips together, trying to not whimper like a high-schooler.

"...Halloween always seemed interesting," his sonorous voice was infuriatingly calm, even as his warm palm was stroking along the thin skin of her inner thigh. "The decorations seem almost as over the top as Christmas decor. What's the draw- the decor or the candy?" When she didn't answer him, Thomas pinched her leg, right next to the swell of her center.

"AH!"

"Yes, darling?"

Closing her eyes, Lauren tried to concentrate. "Both, of course. It's the best of holidays. You can dress up, decorate, eat candy and you don't have to buy meaningless presents for anyone." Her hands tightened on the seat, making the leather creak as her husband's long fingers finally slid along her lower lips, already moistening hopefully. But not pleased with the state of his wife's cunt, Thomas put his middle and index finger to her lips. 

"Suck them, little one. Get them wet." His sweet bride's eyes widened beseechingly, and his narrowed accordingly. "You heard your Sir." With a small sigh, Lauren's mouth opened and she sucked his fingers in, flicking along them with her tempting little tongue, as nimble as a hummingbird. When he was satisfied with her efforts, Thomas pulled them from her lips and slid them to bracket her clitoris, squeezing it lightly between them. The reaction on his darling was immediate, as her back arched, head falling back against the seat. They'd stopped for a red light, and Thomas was certain Lauren hadn't noticed. He glanced at the car next to them and noticed the driver staring at her open mouth and flushed skin with considerable interest. Teeth bared in a snarl, Thomas watched the man visibly gulp and hastily return his attention to the road, driving off the moment the light turned green. It was here where his long arms really became useful, Pine thought with an internal grin, still steering the car with one hand and angling his fingers with the other to suddenly slide up his wife's channel, enjoying her little shriek.

"Oh, God, Thomas!" Lauren's attempt at reason broke off into a moan as he subtly altered the angle of his fingers, making her actually ride them inside her as if it was his cock. "I can't- we can't- you're dr- OH, GOD!" With a low, savage chuckle Thomas pushed in another finger, stroking the rough pads of his fingertips along her satin walls and pressing and prodding in so many sensitive places. 

"Ride your Sir's hand, you dirty little girl, do as you're told." And to his pleasure, she did, angling her hips to take advantage of his stabbing fingers and riding them as if she was positioned above him and impaled on his cock. The feel of her silk wetting his fingers and slicking her inner thighs made him groan, Thomas's cock appreciating the feel of her and rising to harden against his stomach, painfully erect. "Such a lovely kitty..." he soothed her, voice guttural, "your Sir is very pleased with you." Pushing the wide pad of his thumb against her clitoris, he began tapping it firmly in time with the strokes of her cunt, rising and falling against his fingers. He knew his Lauren's "tells" now, knew when she was close to coming. And when those little moans and gasps started growing louder, the silky walls of her channel clenching against his fingers, Thomas abruptly pulled them from her.

With an infuriated wail, she looked at him angrily. "Why did you-"

Thomas smiled innocently... as innocently as a murderous head of an international crime ring could. "We're here, darling."

Dazedly wiping her perspiring forehead and pushing back the curls that had fallen from her neat updo, Lauren tried to focus on the red brick townhouse in front of them. "But... I..." She tried giving her cruel husband her best look of innocent desperation, and he ignored it. Smiling pleasantly as he wiped his wet hand with a dish towel that had been covering their appetizer offering, Thomas discarded it and picked up the tray of cheese, bread and olives. 

"Come now, darling. We mustn't be late. The appetizer, you know..."

 

Watching the forbidding Number Two of Jaguar Holdings graciously converse with her fellow musicians at the party, Lauren shook her head. She never would have expected Thomas to get along so well with everyone, putting them at ease immediately with a well-placed joke and courteous inquiries about their lives and careers with the symphony here in England. Even Edna st. Claire, the sour-faced Third Harpist who approved of no one was tittering at a story Thomas was telling about a trip to the southern portion of the United States and a deep-fried turkey that set his host's outdoor kitchen and pool house on fire. Feeling the uncomfortable clinging of her inner thighs as she altered her stance, Lauren seethed with resentment. Just before the door had opened, he leaned down to murmur, "You will not clean yourself. I want you wet and sticky when I raise that skirt." Before she had a chance to plead with him, he was greeting their host with a firm handshake.

Dinner was wonderful, the wine selection perfect and the conversation centering around her favorite topic in the world- music. Yet Lauren continued to shift miserably, the constant rubbing on her swollen lower lips only making her discomfort worse. Finally, Thomas put one firm hand on her thigh, leaning in to whisper, "Behave yourself, you naughty little thing. Or I will be forced to explain to the rest of the party why my darling wife is wiggling like she's sitting on a pile of tacks."

"I hate you," Lauren barely whispered, resenting how Thomas's broad shoulders shook with a silent chuckle.

Finally,  _finally,_  the pie was finished and everyone sleepy and enjoying the fire, and Lauren took her husband's hand, pulling on it with a silent plea. His brow rose, "Yes, darling?" Thomas asked innocently, "ready to go so soon?" There was an immediate chorus of protests from her fellow musicians, urging them to stay longer, and with a stern look from him, Lauren smiled weakly and sat next to him, almost shooting up again with a gasp when she realized he'd quickly slipped his hand under her bottom. With a single head shake, he made it clear she wasn't moving. "Stay right where you are, you greedy little thing," his tone was cooler and made her correspondingly nervous. "No one can see the placement of my hand unless you move or make a fuss." Looking around furtively, Lauren could see he was right- the room was dim with the firelight and everyone slumped in the scatter of furniture. So with one white-knuckled grip on the sofa arm, she forced herself to not respond to the slow, firm rub of his fingers against her clitoris. Thomas of course, was continuing the conversation, chuckling genially and drinking his glass of a scotch with his "free" hand. Staring at his chiseled side profile, Lauren had never hated him more. It was another full hour and the girl was nearly in tears. Her jaw ached with gritting it to keep from moaning and whimpering, and her son of a bitch bastard husband had brought her to the brink of an orgasm five times before pulling back each time, petting her pussy softly and waiting for her to calm down before beginning the whole torturous process again. Her thighs were shaking with the effort of keeping them together and Thomas could see his bride was at the end of her ability to control herself. "Darling," he said fondly, "I believe it's time we were getting home." Lauren shot up like a rocket in her eagerness, and despite another cheerful chorus of voices asking them to stay, the couple left the Expatriate's Thanksgiving.

They'd barely made it around the corner and out of sight before Lauren managed to hiss, "Stop the goddamn car!" Ignoring Thomas's laughter, she lifted herself over the gear shift as he parked the Jaguar under the cover of a huge tree. Praying that the shaded windows gave them enough privacy, the blonde attacked his trousers, yanking the belt free in her haste and shaking fingers trying to get his fly open. She actually teared up when he put his hands over hers, stilling them.

"Tell your Sir what you want, baby," he said sternly, but there was definitely a twinkle in his stupid, beautiful, stupid cobalt gaze. Thomas pushed his seat all the way back and watched his desperate bride with a lazy smile.

"You know what I want!" Lauren groaned, "Now you're just being mean and I'm dying and-" Thomas unfairly arched his hips, driving his thick erection against her wet thighs. "Please you- please put yourself inside me, Sir!" 

"Of course," Thomas hissed, the sibilance tickling her ear as his wife bit into his jacket, trying to keep from screaming as his cock drove up and into her, so wet that he didn't even need to stroke his way to the top of her as always, but shoving quickly through her slick channel and making her spasm against him. Growling, the cold Number Two forced his cock back inside her, trying to keep from coming himself from all the lovely, clenching squeezes of Lauren's channel as he pushed back and forth. Grinning as he felt her arch against him and let out an muffled shriek, Thomas murmured, "That's two..." before biting her ear and thrusting his strong hips vigorously, bouncing his moaning wife up and down on his shaft, which was getting hard enough to split the skin right off of it. But Thomas continued driving into Lauren until she'd had her fourth orgasm, and then began pinching her slippery, swollen clit between his thumb and forefinger. "You bad little girl," he grunted against her throat, "you're so wet and slick that I can't get a proper hold on this juicy button of yours. So I fear I'll have to pinch it quite hard to get a firm hold..." Laughing as she shook her head helplessly, Thomas ran his tongue along the swell of her breasts.

"One...

Two..." he could feel his orgasm racing down his spine, clenching his ass tightly and a white-hot pulse of energy shooting through his cock and out into his sweet wife's cunt just as his vicious pinch made her scream so loudly that he had to slap his hand over her mouth to quiet her as they shook and moaned their finish together.

 

Lauren was half-asleep as she watched her diabolical spouse light the fire in their own bedroom fireplace. She was wrapped up in Thomas's robe and resting bonelessly on their wonderfully comfortable bed. He'd bathed her gently, spending a great deal of time making sure she was quite clean, then wrapping her in his own robe and a warm towel for her wet hair.

"Thomas?"

He looked up, giving her a dark, knowing smile. "Yes, my angel?"

She was too tired to even blush. "Thank you."

Thomas leaned back, all sleek muscle and strength. "For which part exactly, darling?"

Lauren gave out a feeble giggle. "All of it." Sighing with relief as he got into bed with her, pulling her back to rest against his broad chest. "Do you, um... Do you celebrate Christmas, Thomas?"

His hand didn't stop stroking along her side, the curve of her waist, but her husband sounded indifferent. "Not for years, really. Aside from Corporation events."

"Oh..."

Thomas waited, but Lauren didn't say anything else. Putting his chin on her shoulder, he murmured into her ear. "What would you like to do, darling?" He could feel her little body stiffen with a sudden hope, but she tried to keep her voice casual, too.

"Well... I've always loved to decorate- it's not about the stuff- the gifts. Just lots of pine boughs and a big tree... my mother had all these ornaments her family brought over from Scotland, and-" she stopped quickly and Thomas knew she did so because her voice was about to break.

His thoughtful "Hmmmm" rumbled soothingly up her spine. "Well, perhaps two trees. One for the great room-"

"By that big bay window?" Lauren interrupted him hopefully.

"Of course," Thomas agreed, "and one for here in the bedroom. You can keep the twinkle lights on all night if you wish."

She'd pulled herself away from his long arms and turned over, staring up at him. "Really? We could do that? The lights wouldn't bother you?" Lauren's eyes had that particular appeal that always twisted Number Two's gut a little. An expression that held just a touch of hope- that his bride was allowing herself a sliver of possibility for happiness.

"Not at all," he said, kissing her. "Not at all."

 

The "Cock of Arms" from the inspiration of Candy-Flaps and the artistry of Archy 3001

 


	31. Dancing In The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren tries to forge a friendship, though aware that nothing can bloom under the shadow of the Corporation. Because International Crime Syndicates are assholes like that. Deep roots, mysterious scars, and dancing in the garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're moving into more unfortunate associations with Bratva and it's various psycho lieutenants. So a quiet moment before it gets weird.

It all started with a shower.

 

Specifically, a shower that Thomas pulled a sweaty and thoroughly ravished Lauren into after a long afternoon in the “fun dungeon.” She leaned against the cool tile, eyes closed and humming a little as her husband gently washed her from head to polished toenails. Stirring herself from her dopamine-infused contentment, the girl picked up the fluffy sponge. “My turn,” Lauren said, smiling at the look of satisfaction still lurking in Thomas’s beautiful eyes.

“Very well,” Pine said, grinning knowingly as his wife began rubbing the soapy sponge over his broad chest, her fingers following the suds and enjoying the contours of his pectorals. He was certain Lauren was not aware that she was making pleased little noises- barely heard over the spray of the shower- while she washed him. So perhaps the sweet sound made him softer, less alert. When she turned him to wash his back, Thomas rested his forehead against the glass door, completely relaxed for the first time in… as long as he could remember. So he didn’t stiffen until her long fingers slid across the knotted scar tissue on his lower back.

“How did you… how did this happen, Thomas?”

He could hear the sadness in Lauren’s voice and his jaw clenched. Pity? This little fool had the nerve to pity _him?_ Thomas was suddenly so angry he almost missed the next thing she said.

“It must have hurt so much.” Now she sounded angry, not sad. “How dare-” trying to compose herself, the girl continued, “you must have been really brave, even back then. This looks old.”

Thomas abruptly turned off the shower, opening the door and snapping a towel off the rack, turning away from his wife as he briskly dried his hair. “It’s nothing,” he said coldly.

Lauren knew that voice. It was her husband’s most chilling “This is not up for discussion” voice. And still she persisted. “Thomas, please?” it was the desperation in her tone, she knew it, but he paused slightly. “You know everything about me,” the girl floundered, walking up behind him but not daring to touch his stiff, cold figure. “Please, just…” she sighed, frustrated and a little scared but still persistent. “Please just tell me this?”

He turned towards her again, his beautiful face unreadable. “Darling, it’s merely-” to Lauren’s fury, his phone on the bureau started buzzing and Thomas strode over to pick it up, issuing a sharp “Yes?” and listening silently to the person on the other end of the line. With a final “Very well,” he pressed the ‘end’ button and moved to get dressed. “There’s an urgent matter I must attend to,” he said shortly, “I’ll check in with you later.”

“Thomas-” He paused again, teeth gritted and already feeling his anger at this stubborn creature rising. But Lauren simply hugged him from behind, putting her cheek against his back. “I’ll just... be here, then. I’ll put together dinner in case you make it home.”

There was an odd sensation in his chest, a warmth, but Pine shook it off and headed for the door.

 

________________

 

“Thanks for meeting me,” Lauren said warmly, smiling as the other girl slipped into her chair at the restaurant, “it seems like we never get to hang out, you know?”

Clara smiled up at the waiter offering her a menu and then nodded vigorously. “Absolutely!” the girl shifted a little in her seat, “I understand of course, that you and Arabella have a lot to do together, so…” Realizing this sounded like criticism, Clara beamed at Lauren, “Of course you do, but this is really nice. I’m glad we get a chance to talk.”

Lauren’s smile faded a little but she kept it glued to her lips. She knew exactly why she kept away from the eternally sweet girl, and it was because of her guilt every time she looked at Clara’s happy, innocent face. She had no idea the what the hell she was marrying into. Lauren couldn’t warn her, but the guilt was searing. So she'd kept away from Number Three's fiancee instead. But with Arabella on the "Do Not Contact" list, Clara was her only companion of choice. 'Maybe I can sort of... prepare her so she's not so surprised...' Lauren had thought, sitting at the table. As if there was any way to _ever_ prepare for something like this. Realizing she hadn't spoken yet, she flushed and hastily asked, "Tell me about the wedding plans, do you have a dress?"

The girl's eyes lit up, and she leaned in. "There's still so much to do!" she giggled, "I don't know how you pulled your wedding together in less than a month! I can't imagine..."

Laughing, Lauren shook her head. "That was not me," she assured Clara, "that was all my wedding planner, Jessica. The woman is a force of nature, and she remembers things you can't even begin to imagine but that turn out to be absolutely crucial." That was certainly true, Lauren thought cynically. It wasn't every wedding coordinator that discussed birth control with the blushing bride.

 

_"So, Lauren dear..." Jessica was lifting bridal veils against a dispirited Lauren's blonde hair, holding them this way and that to see if they matched the gown._

_"Hmmmm?" Lauren rubbed her eyes, trying to focus on the redhead, who smiled at her blandly and picked up another veil with a tiny diamond crown._

_Jessica said, "I was wondering about birth control, if you'd made plans for that. It doesn't seem like something you and Mr Pine might have discussed in the midst of all the..." here, even the impenetrably smooth woman looked for the right words, "...the excitement, you know. And I would imagine you would want to plan something as life-altering as a pregnancy." Her eyes were up, eyeing the little crown she was trying to straighten in Lauren's hair, so she missed the look of horrified realization on her client's face._

_"Oh, god!" Lauren was disgusted with herself. As if just being married to this monster wasn't horrifying enough. Besides, what would Thomas even do to her if she got pregnant? “N-_ _no, god, I haven’t! I haven’t even thought about it, oh, god-”_

_If Jessica noted the oddness of a bride who clearly had not had sexual relations with her “devoted” fiance, it didn’t show. “Well, as it happens, I have an excellent gynecologist who could see you this afternoon. You could get that all taken care of.”_

_Lauren stared at the woman, mouth open. “Did, uh, Thomas have you do this?”_

_Jessica hummed noncommitedly and plucked the little crown out of the girl’s hair. “She can see you at 3. Shall I accompany you?”_

_Blowing a loose strand of hair off her forehead, Lauren shook her head. “Thank you, this, I can handle on my own.” The planner chuckled politely and they finished the veil session, Jessica selecting a lovely, gauzy confection that would go with the wedding gown perfectly. She didn’t bother this time to ask the bride-to-be if she had a preference, for which Lauren was grateful. Being asked her opinion on her forced wedding somehow made things worse._

_The gynecologist was a very pleasant woman who gave Lauren a quick physical, pronounced her healthy and suggested an implant under her skin to prevent pregnancy for at least three years. Lauren made sure she got the longest-lasting possible implant, patting the bandage covering the incision more than once to reassure herself it was there._

 

Forcing a smile back on her face, she ate her salad, listening to Clara happily discuss her wedding plans. Maybe it would be different for Clara and Michael. Maybe. Recalling Fassell's smirking face that night when Number One had cornered her in his office, she doubted it. 

But as they finished lunch and took a moment to talk along the Thames, Lauren smiled, a little surprised. It was so nice to have a friend. Clara was too unsophisticated to hide anything from her, which was why Lauren internally cringed when the girl happily talked about the “eternal love” she and Michael had for each other, and how she felt like she “knew his soul.” But still, it was so refreshing to not have to guard every syllable that left her lips, to simply make a remark or a joke or ask a question without it all meaning something else. Becoming a weakness to exploit.

“So, where is Arabella?” Clara’s question jolted her out of her pleasant thoughts.

“Hmmm? What do you mean?” Lauren asked, sad that she was back to paranoid and uber careful.

Linking her arm carelessly with Lauren’s, Clara watched two mallards squabble over something floating in the water. “I just haven’t seen or heard from her since before Christmas,” the girl confided. “I tried to drop off a gift at her house but one of Ben’s employees answered the door and just took the present from me.”

Thinking of Arabella in the cruel grip of Number One, Lauren’s throat closed up. She’d begged Thomas to make sure the woman wasn’t hurt, but would he intervene in his asshole partner’s personal business? “I’ll tell you what,” she said finally, “if she’s not at the fundraising board meeting next week, let’s stop by and intimidate her butler or whatever into letting us in.”

Chortling at the idea of the two younger girls shoving their way past one of Kingsley’s goons to get through the front door, Clara agreed.

Their friendship grew, though Lauren was very careful to repeat their conversations to Thomas, though she suspected he already had read through some kind of transcript or recording, word for word. But Clara even went with her to visit one of the schools where Miles was setting up another branch of the Genesis Program. It turned out that sweet little Clara had quite a passion for art- and she had several excellent suggestions to offer. Watching the two animatedly chat, Lauren relaxed for a moment, thinking how alike they were, until the fear that this could come back and bite poor Clara in the ass hit her full-force. Pulling the other girl out as quickly and gracefully as she could, Lauren not-quite stuffed a confused Clara in the car. She had no idea how closely Fassell monitored his bride to be, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

 

Thomas was late again that night, and Lauren took her (sixth) glass of wine out into their tiny garden behind the house- heavily walled in and completely enclosed. “Naturally,” she mumbled with a cynical smirk. All the same, she cautiously got a little excited at the thought that maybe she could plant some flowers as they moved into spring- prune the rose bushes and make room for some wisteria on the little arch over the garden bench… Lauren paused for a moment as she realized she was planning ahead- like there was a future here, like maybe she belonged in this house. It was the wisteria, she thought, taking a gulp of wine. Her mother used to love talking about the history of their garden at home.

 

_“Now this,” Aureila had said, “is very special. Wisteria takes a very long time to settle itself in new soil. In fact, it won’t bloom for the first 5-7 years as it acclimates to it’s now home.”_

_“That’s a really long time to finally decide to bloom,” a 12 year Lauren had laughed._

_“Ah,” said her mother, “but their roots run deep, and their vines are powerful enough to bend iron gates and crack wooden frames. Once they settle themselves, the vines are very hard to dislodge.” Leaning in to smell one of the tiny golden blooms, Aurelia sighed happily. “They may look pretty, but they’re tough. And the flowers are worth waiting for.”_

 

“Lauren? What are you doing out in the cold?”

She spun, sloshing the wine in her glass a little bit as she found her husband leaning against the open french doors, regarding her with some amusement. “Um,” Lauren hedged, adjusting her sweater, then looking up as something wet landed on her forehead. “It’s snowing! Look Thomas! It’s so pretty!” The brutal heat and drought of summer across the country had turned into a brittle autumn and then a dry winter in London, despite her hopes for a white Christmas. But there were appropriately fluffy flakes of snow falling from the sky and Lauren laughed, utterly thrilled. Looking back to see him still hovering in the doorway, she put down her wine glass on a stone planter and held out her hand. “Come out! It’s beautiful…”

Chuckling a little, Thomas nonetheless left the shelter of the house, striding out into the barren garden and lifting his face to the sky as well. “I’ll be damned,” he mused, “I didn’t think we’d see a single flake of snow this winter.” He watched his wife with a slightly bemused smile as she hummed happily, spinning in dreamy little circles.

Lauren finally turned to look at him, just tipsy enough and excited about her snow to have lost her self-consciousness. “Come dance with me, Thomas!” Holding out her hand, she grinned enticingly. “C’mon, you’re a much better dancer than I am, come make me look good!” He was doing that visual circuit again, that thorough examination from the bottom to the top of her. But it wasn’t salacious this time, a forewarning that she was about to be naked and on her back. This time was almost… tender?

“Of course, darling.” Thomas pulled out his phone and scrolled through it quickly, selecting a song and putting the volume as high as it could go before slipping his phone in his shirt pocket. As he held out his hand and his wife took it, she heard the first, sweet strains of “Moonlight In Vermont.”

Pulling her warm little body against his and feeling Lauren’s head tuck into his neck, Thomas barely heard her whisper, “So perfect...” Pulling her into a simple box step, the forbidding Number Two of Jaguar Holdings absently rubbed his cheek against his bride’s silky hair as they swayed in their tiny garden.

 

_“ Pennies in a stream_

_Falling leaves, a sycamore_

_Moonlight in Vermont_

_Icy finger waves_

_Ski trails down a mountainside_

_Snow light in Vermont_

_Telegraph cables how they sing down the highway_

_As they travel each bend in the road_

_People who meet in this romantic setting_

_Are so hypnotized by the lovely_

_Evening summer breeze_

_Warbling of a meadowlark_

_Moonlight in Vermont_

_Telegraph cables how they sing down the highway_

_As they travel each bend in the road_

_People who meet in this romantic setting_

_Are so hypnotized by the lovely_

_Evening summer breeze_

_The sweet warbling of a meadowlark_

_Moonlight in Vermont_

_Snow light in Vermont_

_Moonlight in Vermont…”_

 

 

 

From the salacious musings of Candy Flaps and the genius artistry of Archy 3001


	32. "I Wish We Could Be Different People."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren is forced to see another ugly facet of the reality of life at Jaguar Holdings. And Thomas spins a fairy tale. Just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stand by my promise to never leave a story unfinished, my dear friends. And I do actually have quite a bit more plotted out for these two. Real Life is being kind of an asshole, time-wise. But I won't give up on Lauren and Thomas. Thanks for sticking with us.

"Hey Chuck," Lauren called, "I need you this afternoon, please."

Her bodyguard/driver/hitman put down his phone and gave her his full attention. "Of course, Miss Lauren," he said. "And where might we be going?"

Lauren was attempting to sound unconcerned as if this was a social call, and there was nothing to worry about. But the words came out with a forced sort of breathlessness that made her sound like a teenager asking to stay out after midnight on a school night. Hideous. "We're going to pick up Clara," she said, "and go pin down Arabella at her place. She ditched the last charity meeting." She could tell as she grabbed a jacket and a messenger bag that the idea was not sitting well with Chuck.

"I see," he said slowly. "And is Mr. Pine aware of your social outing?"

Her eyes narrowed challengingly, "He knows that I'm hanging out with the wives today," she said evasively. Chuck stared at her for far longer than was comfortable, and she was reminded that the man had had a daughter before, and was apparently good at breaking down even the most well-crafted of evasions. Still, she was a grown-up, and Mrs. Thomas Pine, and she wasn't letting this one go. So with a sigh, the man stood and helped her put on her jacket.

Clara was if possible, even more nervous than she was, and it helped Lauren calm down a bit. It wasn't until they pulled up to the palatial front door of the Kingsley's that she turned to Lauren with wide, anxious hazel eyes. "You don't think she's...  she's OK, right?"

Lauren nodded firmly. "Of course she is! She has a lot going on outside of the charity branch, you know that. She's just been busy."

The man who opened the front door did not look like a butler. He stared at them both coldly, clearly indifferent to the fact that these women were attached to the other two in the power structure at the Corporation. "Yes?" he said in an extremely unhelpful way.

Lauren gave him her best insincere social smile. "We're here to see Bella," she said a little aggressively. "We haven't met. I'm Lauren Pine and this is Clara, Mr. Fassell's fiancée. So if you let Arabella know we are here, I'm sure she'll be delighted to see us." She leaned in slightly as she said it, attempting to look threatening. Looking back, she would realize how utterly ludicrous the attempt was, but the fact that Chuck stepped up behind her seemed to make the butler/thug give pause.

"Won't you come in," he said stiffly, "I'll see if Mrs. Kingsley is available." And then he said the thing that Lauren had been dreading- the words that made her physically ill. "She hasn't been feeling well recently." As they stood in the hallway – Lauren noticed the butler/thug had not invited them to sit down – she tried to count back from the last time she seen Arabella at that disastrous lunch with the Gray Man. Five weeks… give or take. She clenched her hands together tightly, trying not to shake. Clara couldn't see her freaking out, it would only scare the girl more. And Arabella was alive, at least they knew that. "Mrs. Kingsley will see you now," the unpleasant man announced, clearly displeased they were bothering him.

Walking in to the sumptuous living room, Lauren ignored the beautiful furnishings and a spectacular view of the lake behind the house. "Bella, we've missed you!" she started, "What's been-"  Behind her, she could hear Clara try to swallow a startled gasp. Mrs. Kingsley looked terrible: face bruised and heavily bandaged and more on her arms and wrapped around her chest, along with some kind of a brace. Lauren's eyes flooded with tears, oh God, that sick fuck Ben did this, he did this and she hadn't done anything to protect Arabella. She should've known that he would-

"Oh, stop with the dramatics, you two!" the chiding voice came from behind the bandages. Arabella attempted to smile and the effort was actually painful to watch. "I'm fine darlings, I just had some plastic surgery done over the holidays, just freshening up, you know."

"Freshening up?" repeated Clara doubtfully, still staring at the woman ensconced on the sofa surrounded by a multitude of pillows and blankets and her feet up.

"Yes." Arabella said firmly. "Why, what did you think? I'm not ready for a complete overhaul yet!" She laughed heartily.

Lauren forced her numb feet to move and headed for the sofa to very, very carefully kiss her friend on the cheek, squeezing her hand. "We really missed you Bella," she murmured. She wanted to say more but both Chuck and the butler/thug were still in the room with them, watching everything carefully.

Squeezing her hand back, Arabella waved to her unwilling manservant, "Go get us some tea and some of those amazing little cheesecakes from yesterday."

Lauren was grateful she didn't call for wine, it was clear from her glassy eyes that the wife of Number One was still generously dosed with pain medication. She and Clara kept up a light patter, updating Arabella about the charity meetings and everything going on regarding the quasi-legal outskirts of the Corporation's activities. It seemed to take the older woman a bit of time to answer back, and Lauren could tell she had to think carefully about what to say. She wasn't sure if that was the medication or the awareness of their constant surveillance.  Finally she ventured, "When will you be um, unbandaged enough to come out with us? We could just take a few walks in a quiet stretch of the park until you're ready with your public face?"

Arabella's marked and bruised face lifted for a moment, looking right at Lauren with a suddenly lucid gaze. "Well, that would be-"

"Darling, I'm home!" To their mutual horror, the greasily fond tone of Number One echoed from the front hall. His expensive shoes clicked against the marble entryway as he headed unerringly for the great room in the back of the house. "Ah, there you are, Arabella. And with guests! The wives are always _so_ loyal." His insectile gaze included them all as his mouth stretched in a terrifying smile.

Lauren watched Arabella shrink into herself as her fists clenched without her knowing. But Kingsley did, his grin stretching wider to see her so angry. "Hello, Ben. How was your day?" Bella's voice was monotone, almost robotic.

"Good, darling, good," the vile bastard answered, the faux soothing tone almost nauseating to hear. "How lovely that your friends have _finally_ come to see you."

Feeling a stab of shame, Lauren realized he was right. Despite Thomas telling her to cut off contact and let things settle, she should have pushed it. She should have insisted on seeing Arabella and asking Thomas to intervene on her behalf. What happened that day was no one's fault. Remembering the older woman whispering, "Colin. he's much nicer than he seems. Please don't say anything- no need to upset our husbands, correct?" 'She called him by his first name...' Lauren shook her head, that didn't mean anything. No one deserved what she was certain had happened to Number One's wife at the hand of her twisted husband. "You're right, Ben," she said clearly, "I should have been here sooner. Much sooner. I won't be so careless with my friendship with Bella again." From the corner of her eye, she could see Clara sitting motionless, like a rabbit hoping the hawk hasn't noticed it. There was the slightest hint of a throat being cleared behind her, and the girl knew it was Chuck. She had a feeling that if she turned around, her bodyguard would be wearing that same terrifying expression he had that day at the Connaught, when things were so volatile that the slightest move could have sent guns blazing. "Well, we should get going, Clara," Lauren took a minute to make sure her voice wouldn't shake. Not in front of that black-eyed, black-hearted bastard. She would never give him what he wanted- her fear, her obedience. Leaning over to Arabella, she gave her friend a gentle kiss on the cheek. "But I'll be back. How does tomorrow sound?"

Number One's wife stirred briefly. "I don't- it depends on Ben's schedule- I..."

"No worries," Lauren stared at Kingsley, whose fixed grin made him look even more terrifying, "I'll just keep checking back. And I'll ask Thomas to check in on Ben's schedule, too." She knew pulling her husband into this mess was an unwise decision, but she was using everything she had. "It won't be another five weeks, Bella. I promise."

As soon as the door closed behind them in the car, Clara burst into tears. "That wasn't a face lift!" she wept, "He did something to Bella, didn't he? He hurt her, didn't he?"

Lauren sighed, putting an arm around the sobbing girl. "Probably a little of both, she-" swallowing down her breakfast that was trying to make its way back up her throat, she finished, "-she probably fixed some... damage."

Clara was suddenly fierce, grabbing her by the arms and looking at her furiously. "How can you stand it? Why are we just... accepting this? It's sick! It's evil and we're not doing anything and..." beginning to cry again, she didn't shrug loose when Lauren put her arm around her again, looking out the window as they left the Kingsley's long driveway and turned on to the street.

 

Back at home, Lauren found herself making that miserable circuit in the living room again. It was exactly 50 steps to the big, leaded-glass windows. Fifteen steps to the fireplace. Thirty-five steps to the front entryway again. Absently counting out loud as she paced her erratic triangle, she tried to think of how to convince her cold husband to intervene in something that was really, none of his business. 

Her eyes closed inexpressible relief when she heard his deep, resonant voice echo in the entryway.

“Darling? I’m home. How was your visit with the wives?”

Lauren sighed silently. Of course he knew. 

“It…” fuck it, she thought. “It was horrible. Arabella-” she fought to control her emotions, “she was hurt. Badly. She was pretending she had some plastic surgery, she called it ‘freshening up,’ but Ben came home and she just sank into the couch and tried to disappear.” Taking a moment, she swallowed and looked at her husband. Thomas was completely calm, watching her intently. “He did something horrible to her when you all got home from that trip, didn’t he? A lot of horrible things.”

Waiting for a moment to see if she had anything else to say, Thomas pulled off his jacket, laying it over the back of one of the wing-back chairs. He hadn't been looking forward to coming home and seeing the tearful anxious, face of his wife since Chuck had called to notify him about the wives' little get-together- which had likely been right around the time Ben received a call from his wife's new "minder," and he'd headed out immediately with a cold glance at Thomas as he passed his office. That look had given Thomas a spiteful satisfaction that Number One considered his wife enough of a threat to head home- followed instantly with a chilling recognition that the vicious head of Jaguar Holdings considering Lauren a threat was a very, very bad thing.

Driving home, he was irritable with Kingsley for treating Arabella so poorly that she retaliated in the most idiotic possible fashion- attempting a "friendship" with that arse Martinsson. And eating at the Connaught? Exposing _his_ wife to that bastard? Lauren would appeal to him to help Arabella. She would want to know more. This flare of concern and independence needed to be curbed immediately. His wife could not be in Kingsley's cross-hairs. He'd never thought seriously about murdering the first in command, but it was appearing that it might be an expedient action.

"-help her?" Her lovely purple eyes were seeking his, wide with an appeal.

Irritated with himself for not paying attention, Thomas cleared his throat. "Do you remember me telling you about Colin Martinsson?"

"The Grey Man," Lauren agreed, watching him smile slightly.

"Then you see what an utterly suicidal action it was for Arabella to be speaking with him."

She shook her head, confused, "But- he came over to our table, she didn't-"

Thomas interrupted her coldly. "She should not have been there. She should not have brought you there. Arabella knew what she was doing, and she knew what would happen to her. I can't intervene. You should know that."

"This is insane!" Lauren burst out, hands clenched into fists. "No one– she didn't deserve- this is sick-" she sputtered to a stop, not knowing how to express her fury and helplessness. "So there was nothing you could do to protect her? What if he killed her?" Her eyes were filling with tears and Thomas made a sharp, impatient sound. 

"You remember the world we're in, correct? You know your responsibilities, you've done well. Arabella's been in this life for over a decade. She _knows_ better."

"You didn't see her, Thomas! She- I'm sure she had to have surgery to repair some of the damage that monster did to her! Can't we make him stop it?" Lauren stuttered, trying to find the right thing to say, "Can't you make Ben not hurt her-"

"This is not up for discussion," Thomas said with a chilling calm. "Not another word."

His sweet wife ground her teeth furiously, "You want me to be friends with the other wives, you say they're the only ones who understand. But- but- but something horrible happens to one of them and I'm just supposed to drop her, just like that? No longer convenient?" She looked up, hoping she would see understanding or possibly even sympathy on her husband's beautiful face, but it was still set in it's cold lines.  In fact, she hadn't seen him look this unkind and forbidding since that terrible first night in his office.  Forcing herself to calm down, she turned to the kitchen. "I'll just… I'll…" Lauren made herself concentrate. "I'll just... finish dinner." She looked at him one last time, searching for something she didn't find and she left without another word.

Thomas growled silently, running his hand through his dark hair. This was the Corporation's reality. And like it or not, his sweet wife would have to get used to it.

 

It was around 2 AM when he heard Lauren slip from the bed. Thomas thought for a moment that she was heading upstairs to play her stress and fear away as she had many times before, but then he heard her in the master bathroom. He moved soundlessly to listen at the door. She was crying and clearly trying to keep it down. Lauren looked up, shocked when he opened the door and frantically scrubbing at her streaming eyes with the tissue. "I was just... I'm just coming back to bed now," she said in a dull, flat tone he's not heard before. Thomas looked down as she wiped her eyes quickly one last time before hastily discarding the tissue, as if hiding the evidence. An unfamiliar pinch of sorrow twisted his insides from the sight. It was a rare emotion, and one Thomas disliked. Unfortunately, he found himself feeling it more than once with his wife.

"Darling..."

Lauren stopped, her back to him and humiliated that she was so attuned to the sweet, caressing tone he used to often devastating effect that she obeyed... like a barn animal, or something. She stiffened as his hand came to stroke down her back.

Thomas's normally perfect, composed voice was a little hoarse. "I know what I've brought you into. Nothing can prepare you for... this. But now I must keep you safe. Your safety is more important to me than- more important than I can express. I control many things. Life and death, occasionally. But not Arabella's." When he turned her to face him, Lauren was weeping those terrible, silent tears again.

She was shaking her head sadly, hopelessly. "I wish it could be different," Lauren wept, "that we could be different people." She felt his wide chest move as her husband sighed, and he simply held her for a moment until he steered her back to bed.

 

 

Thomas was gone when she woke the next morning, eyes feeling swollen from crying and her throat sore. When she came downstairs, Chuck was waiting for her, impassive as always. "Good morning, Miss Lauren, or should I say good afternoon?"

She groaned, embarrassed, "Thanks Chuck. I know I'm a slacker."

"Mr Pine has requested I give you this note." He handed her a cream colored envelope, sealed. Opening it, Lauren recognized her husband's personal stationary.

_You have a mission. Your name is Francesca Bisset. You are a ballet dancer, here in London on a tour. There is a dress waiting for you in your closet, get dressed and ready by five for Chuck to take you to your next location. Do not break character, your mission depends upon it._

_T._

Lauren read it twice, torn between laughing at this shockingly unexpected move from her husband and a bit excited at the challenge of stretching her non-existent acting skills. She eyed her bodyguard suspiciously as she stuffed the letter back in the envelope. "What might you know about this, Chuck?"

He raised one well-bred eyebrow, "Nothing at all, Miss Lauren."

She rolled her eyes, "Of course." Racing through her run and her practice session, Lauren kept wondering what Thomas had selected for a French ballerina to wear. After taking a shower and buffing and lotioning every part of her body, the girl opened the closet door to find the garment bag- holding not only a dress but shoes, jewelry and some spectacularly racy lingerie that she suspected would be riding up her ass all night. Dressing rapidly and applying makeup, Lauren mumbled through all the naughtiest and more vulgar lines she'd learned outside of French class. Ready by ten to five, she nervously examined the back of the dress in the mirror. It dipped so low there was no possibility for a bra, though the front was draped beautifully and the dark green silk covered her breasts. It was short- much shorter than her other dresses with a full skirt that swished enticingly against her thighs as she walked. With her dark eye makeup and a red lipstick that she would never wear in real life, Lauren looked... mysterious? A person of sophistication? Walking carefully so she didn't trip on her sky-high heels and ruin the illusion, she allowed Chuck to help her into the BMW.

When they pulled up in front of The Lanesborough, Lauren squee'd internally. They'd attended just one event there as the new Mr and Mrs Pine, and she'd always wanted to see more of the magnificent building. Chuck gracefully escorted her into the hotel's Library Bar, seating her right in front of the bartender. When he moved to step away, Lauren grabbed his sleeve. "W- wait, Chuck. Aren't you staying?" His eye dropped very slightly into a wink, and he seated himself across the room where he had a clear view of his nervous charge. With a sigh and subtly adjusting her dress lower on her thighs, Lauren ordered a glass of wine. No getting fancy with the hard stuff while she was waiting for her diabolical husband's next move. 

Just as she was taking her first sip, she heard him. That damned Voice. Smooth and deep, purring with just the right amount of growl. "Excuse me darling, is this seat taken?" Swallowing the expensive wine in an unladylike gulp, Lauren turned to examine him cooly. Thomas was beautifully outfitted in a charcoal grey suit she was especially fond of, and a Gucci silk tie that matched his eyes, which held a gleam that was equal parts arousing and unnerving.

Giving an indifferent shrug, Lauren answered in her best French accent, "If you wish."

Ordering a scotch, Thomas turned to her again. "Ah, Quelle chance de rencontrer une belle jeune femme. Et français aussi! Êtes-vous ici à Londres pour affaires ou par plaisir?"

"Les deux peut-être. Et avez-vous l'habitude d'essayer de trouver, ah" here, Lauren mockingly used two fingers to make quotation marks, "de belles demoiselles dans les cinq premières minutes de leur connaissance?"

Thomas laughed, his head thrown back in amusement and every female eye in the place drawn to him. "Sadly, darling, there are very few such beautiful young ladies in this world. One must at least attempt a flirtation when the opportunity presents itself."

"Hmmmmm..." Lauren hummed with a note of disapproval, long fingers playing with the sparkling diamond necklace found with her pretty dress. The low light flashed off the jewels, drawing Thomas's eye.

"Charmant. Êtes-vous peut-être une héritière du diamant?" he leaned forward on the pretense of examining the chain of stones around Lauren's neck, and the smell of fine wool, the crisp notes of his cologne and something cool and intangible that was simply her husband swept over her. Breathing him in, she was embarrassed to give a little shiver.

Drawing herself up haughtily, Lauren shook her head. "Oh s'il te plait. Maintenant tu es juste bête. Je danse. Je suis en tournée avec ma compagnie de ballet."

Thomas put a hand to his chest in mock disappointment. "Silly? I assure you darling that is not a word used to describe me, ever. But with those long, lovely legs of yours, I can certainly see you'd be a spectacular dancer." He took a slow drink, eyeing her over the rim of his glass before setting it down and leaning very close to her, so close that he put his big hand on her thigh for balance. "Pourquoi ne me rejoins-tu pas dans ma suite," Thomas whispered into her ear, "et que j'enroule ces longues jambes de ballerine autour de moi pendant que je te baise?"

Lauren sucked in a shaky breath, wide eyes staring into his knowing ones. "I should slap your face for that rudeness, Monsieur."

His chuckle was low and greedy-sounding. "It would be only fair darling, but can you save that slap until after I fuck you?" The unfortunate bartender happened to be passing by and nearly dropped his tray of glasses, choking a little.

Her gaze cut to the man and back to the smirking face of the Corporation's second in command. "Well..." Lauren drawled insolently, "I have nothing better to do at the moment, so I suppose..."

Thomas grinned and threw a handful of money at the bartender without taking his gaze from his conquest. "Come with me, little girl. I have so many delightful ways to occupy your time." Escorting her out of the bar with his hand at the small of her back, Thomas ran two fingers discreetly under the silk drape of her dress, stroking along the skin just above the line of her undies. He moved them so quickly towards the elevators that Lauren hoped she wouldn't trip on those towering heels. But he did not attack her- as she expected- in the elevator and in fact was a complete gentleman until he ushered her through the door to his suite, then shut it, slamming Lauren against the wood and his mouth against hers. "Beautiful," he purred, sliding his tongue between her lips, "so beautiful." 

Those big, warm hands of his were gently sliding the straps of her little dress off Lauren's shoulders, and she moaned, feeling the hard press of him against her, and the rapidly growing and hardest part of him against her stomach. Her back arched a bit, pushing herself against his prominent cock. Pulling away from his mouth, she tried to concentrate. "I- I don't do things like this," she said, French accent forgotten and feeling for a moment like a girl way in over her head.

His busy mouth paused for a moment, pressing a soft kiss against her jawline, hands still against her body. "You have nothing to be afraid of, darling. I'll take care of you."

The question flew out before Lauren quite understood it. "What's your name?"

But he smiled reassuringly, kissing her cheekbone and the tip of her nose. "William." Waiting as she nodded, Thomas whispered in her ear, "And what shall I call you, lovely?"

Lauren did feel like someone else, someone more daring and sexy, someone who would take the challenge of leaving the bar with this beautiful stranger and ready for a night of wonderful debauchery. "Francesca," she whispered back.

Suddenly she was on her back on the bed, covers thrown off so Thomas could lay her out reverently against the hotel's exquisite linens, feeling so smooth against her skin. That pretty green dress was gone, along with her scraps of black lingerie, those expensive heels the only thing she still had on. Thomas was fully clothed, and he stood between her legs, blocking her from closing them when she tried, suddenly embarrassed.

“Ah-ah,” he chided, pulling off his jacket and removing his tie, slowly rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt with the air of a man ready to get to work. “You mustn’t be shy. Darling. I have so many things I want to do with you, and to you, of course.” His chuckle was just shy of sinister, and Lauren shivered again. “I have found,” Thomas continued conversationally, “that lovely, athletic girls like you tend to move around a great deal, thrash and fuss… I think you’ll be able to enjoy yourself more if I keep you from fighting how I’m going to make you feel. Wouldn’t you like that, sweet Francesca? Letting your Sir do all the work and just attend to you?”

“I…” Lauren tried to think of what her haughty ballerina self would do, but it just came out in a bit of a whimper as he held up two ties, the first wrapped quickly around one thigh and ankle, drawing her heel to her ass and tightening her bonds to hold her there. The end of the tie was wrapped around her wrist and fastened back to her ankle, holding her spread and immobilized as the man used his ruthless speed to do the same to her other leg and wrist. Standing back, Thomas slowly removed his shirt as he enjoyed the sight of her, breasts heaving and spread wide. She couldn't close her legs because her arms were pulled too tightly to allow it. He knew his sweet conquest would be horribly embarrassed if she knew that her pink kitty was already glistening and wet for him. 

He was taking off his pants, kicking off socks and shoes as he went, and Thomas soothed her. "I know we've just met, but I assure you, I want nothing more than to make you come. Several times. What is your safe word?"

Lauren was trying to think of what an elegant ballerina from France would use, and all that came to her was one of the lavender fields she'd seen in Provence. 

“Lavender,” she blurted, and his hands slowed, Thomas looking at her strangely.

The very thing he’d thought of when he’d first seen her eyes… “Very well, lovely Francesca, lavender.” He was naked now, brazenly, beautifully, the dim light in the suite’s bedroom gleaming off his tall body, his muscles slipped and flexing under his skin. “My god, darling. You are exquisite.”

Laughing breathlessly as she tested the tightness of the knots binding her and knowing already they wouldn't slip, Lauren managed, “I’ll bet you say that to all the French ballerinas you lure up to your hotel suite.” He was crawling on the bed and to her, looking up at her with a greedy, wolfish intent.

“Only you, darling.” He was leaning over her now, so close that she could see the faint green and silver flecks in his eyes, and then Thomas was nuzzling her, breathing her in and groaning in pleasure. “Only you.” Then he was inching back down and putting his mouth over her center in a luscious, filthy, full-mouth kiss. Lauren’s back arched, which made the bonds open her legs wider, bringing her closer to his mouth. His hands slipped under her ass, lifting her to his mouth as he rubbed his stubbled chin along the thin skin of her thighs and into the painfully sensitive flesh of her pussy. Thomas found himself so aroused that he was rubbing his erection against the bed linens- hard- seeking some relief as he growled into her center, hearing her gasp in return as the vibration tormented her. He spoke against her clitoris, his lips deliberating shaping against it. “I will not continue until you have come for me twice by my mouth, darling…” lifting her harder against his face, he could see her toes point helplessly, grinning. Number one… As a man who believed in going above and beyond expectations, Thomas in fact did not release his pretty new conquest until she came three times from his fingers inside her and tongue and teeth worrying gently at her clit and swollen lips.

“Th- William…” she managed to moan.

“What, lovely? What do you need from me?” Thomas was fairly certain that if he grew any harder, the skin would split off his cock, a theory that was tested by her next words.

“Can I taste you?”

He wasn’t sure if he laughed, growled or groaned, but the man made some kind of noise as he gently pulled Lauren upright on to her knees, kneeling in front of her, stroking his shaft teasingly. “This? You wish to taste my cock, Francesca?”

Her “Yes, please,” was so sweet and proper that he nearly came right there, and his fist tightened. Her pink mouth opened, and his ass flexed as Thomas ran the tip of him across her lips, gently putting his other hand behind her head to hold it steady. He’d never tried to fuck her mouth roughly, but his wife had been experimenting with pulling his thick head deeper down her throat and it never failed to arouse him to see her lips wrapped around him, her hollowed cheeks and that little moan as he slipped past the tight ring of her throat. As “Francesca,” she was definitely rousing her inner vixen, looking up into his eyes as she ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft, fluttering it tauntingly.

“Enough!” Thomas pulled himself from the girl’s mouth, a thumb wiping her wet lips. “Beautiful girl, you are delightfully talented but I want to be inside you.” With a quick pull, he released her from her bonds, stretching her legs high and kissing along them. “Do you want me to wear a condom, darling? I’ve been tested.”

‘He’s really keeping this act going,’ Lauren thought, half out of her mind with dopamine poisoning. “I’ve been tested too,” she managed, “and I’m using birth control, if you want to be…” His answering purr was enough, and she started breathing faster as Thomas positioned himself between her legs again, shifting his hips back and forth slowly as the thick head of him breached her, and he started stroking a bit more each time as he pushed inside her.

Lauren’s head dropped against the pillow. “Oh, god… Th- William, that’s so good.” Somehow, it did feel like the first time, still stinging and stretching her but so wonderful and filling her to bursting. Her hips started circling, trying to draw him deeper until Thomas lost his iron self-control and began thrusting greedily, hungrily, snapping his hips to move deeper inside her.

“I’m going to fill you completely, darling, I’m going to bury myself and never come out of you- god, you’re such a good girl. So snug and sweet. So warm…” Lauren lifted her legs around his waist and crossed her ankles together, squeezing him tightly inside and out.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned, “this is so perfect, you… AH!” Her orgasm took her by surprise, and the corresponding pulses from her cunt forced the come from Thomas, making his big body stiffen over her and his head drop to her shoulder as he squeezed her breast and dragged her into coming again with him.

William and Francesca made love twice more that night, and again in the morning before leaving. Both hovered by the door to the suite, curiously unwilling to leave and break the spell that let them be someone else, at least for one night. Finally with a sigh and a long kiss, Thomas opened the door and escorted his wife from the hotel.

 

 

Being sent out on a “double date” the next night with Clara and Fassel to greet some Canadian associates at their new club meant Lauren could talk with her friend privately for a moment. “Are you all right, Clara?” she’d asked gently.

”No.” the girl answered honestly. “I hate this. I asked Michael to please talk with Mr Kingsley, but I....” she wrung her hands. “I never thought I would be the person who looked the other way. How can we have such wonderful men and poor Arabella stuck with that... _man_.” she spat.

”Wow...” Lauren was impressed. Clara did have a fierce side. “You’re right, Clara. And we’re not giving up and looking the other way, okay? We just have to...” she sighed, discouraged, “we just have to figure this out. We’re smart women, right?”

Clara forced a smile and nodded towards the entryway. "Here comes your Prince Charming," she said, and Lauren turned to look at Thomas slicing his way through the dancers. He didn't seem to look where he was going, but she noticed that the crowd seemed part for him like the Red Sea and for a moment the spot light shone on him, highlighting the auburn in his dark hair and made his eyes flash as vividly as the Mediterranean. She felt her heart sink into her feet with a thump. He was so beautiful, her strange captor/husband. And in that moment, even knowing that she had been forced to marry him, even knowing who and what he was, Lauren knew that she could never leave Thomas. Even if by some impossible chance she were able to escape him, she couldn't. She still believed in the darkest part of her heart that one day he would grow tired of her and send her... somewhere, but she couldn't be the one to walk away. Reaching them, Thomas nodded at Clara fondly before turning the full power of that intense gaze of his on his wife. One brow arched. "Are you all right?"

Lauren reshaped her lips in the form of a smile and nodded. "Absolutely. Especially after you brought me this spectacular martini." They talked with the other couple for a moment, Lauren ignoring the smirking Number Three and focusing on the innocent face of his fianceé. Could Clara survive this life? Lauren chuckled inwardly and took another drink. The same could've been said of her, yet here she was. Not only still in her cage but holding the door shut herself.

She didn't realize that Thomas was watching her until he spoke. "Dance with me, darling." The music at the club was perfect: the shadowy dance floor just the thing for grinding and daring movements that the graceful but unconfident Lauren would never try if she thought she was on display. And Thomas made it so easy. Moaning as he slid his hard thigh between hers and one arm tightening around her to cradle her waist, she stretched her arms over her head and moved along against the tall body of her husband. "Beautiful…" Lauren sighed.

Thomas, his voice was so low as to be almost a growl whispered into her ear and purred along her nerve endings, kneading them like a cat. His fingers were doing the same thing, stroking roughly into the soft skin of her back and her hips, bringing her pelvis closer to his. And for a perfect moment on the shadowy floor with nothing but the movements of her husband to match and the feel of him against her, Lauren was perfectly, blissfully happy.

 

——————————————————————- 

"Quelle chance de rencontrer une belle jeune femme. Et français aussi! Êtes-vous ici à Londres pour affaires ou par plaisir?" - "Such luck to meet a beautiful young lady. And French as well! Are you here in London for business or pleasure?"

"Les deux peut-être. Et avez-vous l'habitude d'essayer de trouver de belles demoiselles dans les cinq premières minutes de leur connaissance?" - "Both, perhaps. And are you in the habit of attempting to pick up beautiful young ladies within the first five minutes of their acquaintance?"

"Charmant. Êtes-vous peut-être une héritière du diamant?" - "Lovely. Are you, perhaps a diamond heiress?"

"Oh s'il te plait. Maintenant tu es juste bête." - "Oh, please. Now you're just being silly."

"Pourquoi ne me rejoins-tu pas dans ma suite et que j'enroule ces longues jambes de ballerine autour de moi pendant que je te baise?" - "Why don't you join me in my suite and I'll wrap those long ballerina legs around me as I fuck you?"

 


	33. What A Conscience Can Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren meets someone from her past. Someone even more horrible than her father. Though to make this the worst week ever, Frank shows up, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: remembered sexual assault. It is not unduly specific, but I'd rather you know. You can skip the chapter without missing too much if this would affect you.

_Our crest "The Cock of Arms" designed by the clever Archy 3001 from the inspiration of Candy_Flaps, who comforted Lauren by assuring her that there was "Some glorious cock on the horizon."_

 

 

 

"Your father's coming to London."

If Thomas had been attempting to destroy his wife’s appetite, mission accomplished. It was just a shame, Lauren thought later, because at the time they were enjoying some really spectacular Scottish salmon. Putting down her fork, she pushed down the nausea and anxiety this revelation caused. “Oh. How come?”

The corner of her husband’s mouth quirked just slightly. “The annual board meeting for Atlantic Equities as a Corporation holding. Since the company came under my division’s person supervision, ROI has improved. We’re looking at moving Frank out of the CEO position. There’s several more eager executives who could improve the company's profit margin.”

A shard of grief twisted in Lauren’s chest. “Atlantic Equities was my grandfather’s company. He built it from nothing.”

Thomas’s chewing slowed, and he took a sip of wine. “This is hard for you to see it leave your family.”

Hardening her heart, Lauren shook her head briskly, stabbing into a bit of salmon. “It left the family when my father sold it out from under us.” A moment of confusion swept over her. If Frank hadn’t run the company into the ground and then sold it to an international crime syndicate, she never would have met Thomas. Married him. Had her life change so dramatically… the girl waited to see how those observations would affect her. The sadness she should have logically felt wasn’t there. Was this… pleasure she was feeling? A sense of good fortune?

Thomas leaned back, idly swirling the wine in his crystal glass as he watched the rapid play of emotion over his guileless wife’s face. He had a fairly good idea of the feelings I it would spark for Lauren to realize she’d be seeing that worthless lump of flesh that sired her again. After Frank had walked her down the aisle and then promptly got drunk during the surreal nightmare that had been her wedding, she'd not spoken of him once. Knowing Lauren's sweet and forgiving nature, Thomas was quite certain Frank's instant capitulation to his demand for his daughter's hand in marriage was not the first time he'd placed his interests well above his daughter. The twinge in the general direction of where a conscience might have resided - had he owned one- Thomas realized he _was_ responsible for the final rift between father and daughter, though he didn't doubt it would have come sooner than later.

"Do we have to see him?" she asked abruptly, looking down at her half-eaten dinner.

Warmed by her use of "we," Thomas shook his head gently. "If you don't want to have contact with him, of course not. There's no reason to put you in a position that's bound to make you unhappy."

Lauren didn't look up, but she nodded. "Thank you, Thomas."

 

Nonetheless, Lauren viewed the upcoming Corporation board meeting with dread. There would be entertaining “requirements,” and since she didn’t know how Arabella was recovering, the chances were good that she would be put in charge. While she hadn’t come back the very next day, as she’d threatened to Kingsley’s thug/butler, Lauren was stubbornly back on their front steps the next week. Chuck’s silent menace behind her kept the man’s sneer to a minimum. “Arabella!” she said gratefully, noting that her friend stood this time to greet her. “You look… much better, honey.” Lauren was being truthful, Number One’s wife was almost back to her elegant, polished self, though she could tell the older woman was still moving stiffly, carefully. 

She didn’t argue when Arabella airly waved her (no longer splinted) hand. “Plastic surgery! You’d think these procedures wouldn’t take so long to clear up! But I’m feeling right as rain.”

This time, neither Chuck or the thug/butler stood in the room with them, though Lauren didn’t doubt for a second that they were hovering right outside. In fact, she thought with a cynical twist to her full lips, there was likely plenty of listening devices around them room. So, she’d brought an iPad with her. “I was hoping you’d help me make some lists of things to do-” she scooted closer to the other woman. “I can take some of the weight off your shoulders if you can do the fine tuning?” Meanwhile, she was rapidly tapping out, _‘How are you, really? How can I help?’_

Pleasant social smile very much in place, Arabella airily answered, “That would be lovely. If you can call Carolyn at Elegant Affairs, she’ll handle the menu and drink items if you just…” Nodding and typing rapidly as if taking notes on whether to serve the fish or steak dish, Lauren's stomach knotted as Arabella wrote, _'Don't trust anyone. Not even Thomas. Especially not Thomas. This upcoming meeting is going to be very bad.'_

Finally back at home, Lauren wandered the quiet, elegant rooms in their townhouse, staring at nothing as she processed everything she'd been told. People were going to be killed during this Corporation summit. It was possible her father would be one of them, despite her husband's promise to let Frank live. Thomas had told her she didn't need to see Frank, was that because he knew the man's demotion from CEO of Atlantic Equities included a shallow grave somewhere? But... he'd told her the truth about Macie. Lauren had anxiously checked the Berlin Philharmonic's social media pages until she'd seen images of Macie playing during a performance. Alive, even if she could never see her again. Lauren knew that her husband usually simply refused to answer her, or he'd give her a look of terrifying chill that would intimidate her instantly if she asked something That Was None Of Her Business. She didn't believe Thomas lied to her... maybe because it wasn't worth the trouble.

But while Thomas did keep his promise about Lauren not having to see her father, she encountered someone much worse at the welcoming cocktail party.

 

Lauren's back was turned, chatting animatedly to a vice president from Atlantic Equities who'd been with the company since her grandfather ran it. Thomas smiled absently to hear the peal of her laughter more than once at the elderly man's stories from home. His wife was wearing a deliciously low-backed evening dress that stopped just around the dimples over her ass, and Thomas was enjoying the smooth play of toned muscle and skin. He'd selected that dress for her with this tantalizing view very much in mind. And then her entire body turned to stone.

"Well how do you do! Is that sweet little Lauren, Frank's kid? You've grown up, honey."

She recognized the voice instantly, the nauseating, contemptuous tone of the scumbag who her father had sworn he'd fired after that- thing. And then his horrible fucking hand was on her bare back, low, near her waist and Lauren found she couldn't move. She stood utterly still, trying not to vomit into her glass of wine. The vice president she'd been speaking to, Alan Tarrow, looked concerned as he watched the color drain from her face. "Lauren, you look ill, why don't you come sit down, I'll get you some water-"

"Oh, hell Alan!" the bastard's voice was loud, boisterous. "I haven't even had a chance to say 'hi' to little Miss Marsh, here."

Lauren suddenly, violently arched her back away from his hand, stepping closer to Tarrow and shuddering. "Don't you- don't touch me. You shouldn't be here- you shouldn't-"

"Lauren? Darling, come with me." Thomas was behind her then, she could feel the heat from his body against her chilled skin, he was standing closer than usual as he slid an arm around her waist. "Excuse us, gentlemen," he said coldly, "my wife is needed elsewhere."

The girl was walking away as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run, but she could hear the oily voice of that... _pig_ suddenly change tone, sounding alarmed. "Wife? Fuck, Frank's little girl is married to _Pine?"_

Thomas quelled a rising fury as he looked at Lauren’s face. She was sheet-white with two red spots burning vividly over her cheekbones. Taking a breath, he calmly asked, “Who upset you?”

Lauren was taking short gulps of air, vaguely aware that she was probably hyperventilating but trying to look calm as Thomas led her out of the room. “No- nothing, I just need-” another hitch of air left her chest and she tried to focus. She was aware she was being seated somewhere and a door was shut. Her cold hands were in Thomas’s warm ones, and he was rubbing some circulation back into her fingers.

“Match your breath to mine, Lauren. Look at me, darling.” Lifting her chin, his polar gaze found hers and held it, forcing her to breathe in and out slowly. When Lauren's chest stopped hitching, Thomas spoke again. "You were speaking to Alan Tarrow and Steve Meyers. Which one upset you?"

Lauren's heart nearly stopped again. She could hear the barely concealed fury in her husband's tone that meant someone was about to have a very bad night. No matter how much she hated that- that _thing,_ she couldn't be responsible for his death. So trying to compose herself, she looked back at him. "I don't like Steve Meyers. He's a creep. All the women he worked with hated him because he's a misogynistic asshole. That's all. I just- I thought Frank had fired him a long time ago." Lauren cringed internally. Thomas’s gaze had not left hers and it was clear he knew she wasn’t telling the truth. After a moment, he nodded and rose, helping her up. “I will make certain,” Thomas spoke precisely, another hint that he was hiding his temper, “that Meyers does not approach you again. Can you finish the night?”

Nodding, Lauren answered as if it was obvious, “Of course.” Of course she would. She would just be someone else, just watching like it wasn’t happening to her at all.

 

But when she dreamt that night, that little trick didn't work.

Thomas had been forced to send her home with Chuck, since the cocktail party turned into a spur of the moment meeting with the Atlantic Equities board when Number 3 produced some unflattering new information. Grinding his even white teeth, Pine had nodded at Charles, who moved to him swiftly. "Take my wife home, please. Do not leave her." Nodding the man glided away to collect Lauren, who greeted him with a relieved smile that did nothing to allay Thomas's suspicions.

 

  __________________________________

 

In Lauren's dream that night, they were back at that horrible restaurant in downtown Manhattan five years ago and his hand was heavy on her forearm as he leaned in to tell her another disgusting joke. Lauren leaned away as politely as possible and said, "Excuse me Mr Meyer, I have to speak to my-"

"Relax kid! We're just having fun, remember?" The man was smiling, but his teeth were gritted. "Your dad's in such a great mood since I brought in the Diego de Luna accounts, let him celebrate!" With a weak smile, Lauren nodded but pulled away as graciously as she could. Hiding in the ladies room for a moment, she washed her hands and the sweaty spot Meyers left on her forearm. Creepy bastard! And she knew her dad put him next to her at the table because he'd been staring at her all evening. He made her sick- there was something off about him and if her mom were here, she would have switched seats instantly and put him with the ancient Vinklemann twins who ran the accounting department. But her mom wasn't here. Lauren swallowed down the grief and made her 17 year old self smile. Mom was in the hospital getting another chemotherapy treatment, and she'd insisted along with Frank that she attend this business dinner as the "hostess." And the girl was capable of it- trained from early on when her earnest conversation and sincere interest was dubbed precocious, to now where she could deftly handle conversations with millionaires three times her age. Unfortunately, sometimes her graceful way of drawing out someone's interests and making them feel special was misinterpreted as something else. This creepy Meyers guy had to be in his late 40's! She kept away from her seat next to the slimy associate until the end of dinner and stood with Frank to greet everyone goodnight.

To her disgust, Meyers seized her hand, bending over to kiss it and Lauren's skin tried to crawl right off her body as she realized the disgusting troll was _licking_ her hand under his lips. As she wiped her hand on her skirt, he shook her father's hand briskly, promising that "I'll see you both. Real soon," and chuckling as he left. Frank did not believe her when she complained about how disgusting Meyers was, how he kept grabbing her at dinner and put his disgusting tongue on her hand.

"Don't get so worked up, honey. You're misinterpreting his actions. You're a pretty girl- when you're dressed up, anyway- and he was probably trying to be... I don't know, gallant, or something."

Lauren thought she was being smart in her argument when she brought up the potential of a sexual harassment lawsuit against the company if Meyers behaved like this at work. Frank irritably waved off her concerns. "He's a top earner in our South American division, honey. You know how it is down there. Everyone is flirty."

And two days later as the girl was getting out of a cab, coming home from the hospital, the man was waiting for her outside her parent's brownstone. He stepped out of the shadow of one of the pillars as Lauren opened the front door. "Hey, Lauren! Great to see you again. I've got some papers for your dad-" Meyers held up a couple of folders, "-and I promised I'd meet him here to sign them."

Lauren tried to slip through the door quickly while holding out her hand for the folders. "I'll give them to him for you. I don't know when he'll be back and you have other things to do-" She instantly realized her mistake when he shoved through the door before she could close it. 

"You little flirt!" he chuckled, trying to look seductive as he pushed her further into the hall so he could shut the door and lock it. "If you wanted to get me alone, you just had to say so!"

She tried to swallow her sudden, sickening sense of fear and look coldly authoritative, like her mother did when someone Got Out Of Hand. "Get out of here, now! I swear I'll-"

"You'll what?" Suddenly, she'd been shoved back against the wall of the entryway, knocking the breath out of her. The man in front of her had never been attractive, but now the ugly twist to his mouth and his red, sweating face made Lauren nauseous. "You'll call daddy? You think he'll care? Who do you think pays for your fancy fucking house and your fancy fucking education? Managers like _me_ , bitch! And you need to start showing me some appreciation-"

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Lauren yelled back, "Get OUT or I'll call the cops, you freak-" A hard slap nearly knocked her over and the girl shrieked when Meyer's grabbed her t-shirt and ripped it nearly off her. Now she began to scream in earnest, terrified and trying to fight back but his bulk was already on top of her, crushing her chest and hurting her and then she was crying, trying to keep her knees together when he began yanking at the button to her jeans. 

Suddenly his ugly face was yanked away from hers and a spurt of blood came from his temple where he'd been slammed across the face with a huge purse. "Saia do porco!" Beatriz their housekeeper was there, slamming her bag against his head again, making the man let out a thin shriek. "I'm calling the police! Rapist! Bastard! Eu deveria cortar seu pauzinho!" She was still hitting Meyers when the door opened again, her father dropping his briefcase.

"What the hell is going on here! What the hell!" Frank was shouting at everyone, silver head turning as he tried to find the right person to blame. Looking down at his sobbing daughter, jeans wrestled halfway down her knees and pink bra showing under her torn t-shirt, he quickly averted his eyes. "Meyers! What are you doing here!" Lauren was crying so hard, trying to pull on Beatriz's offered sweater that she didn't get much of the conversation. Their housekeeper was holding her own, gesturing furiously at a bleeding Meyers and back at Lauren, still curled up on the floor. Suddenly, Meyers was scuttling out the door and Frank was yelling back at Beatriz to "Shut the hell up and let me think!"

The older woman stared at him furiously before turning to help Lauren up, who was still shaking and trying to pull up her jeans. "He tried to ra- to hurt me and he hit me, Dad! He wanted to-" she stopped for a moment, realizing that she really had been moments away from being raped without Beatriz coming back to pick up something at the house and saving her. "We have to call the police!"

"Don't be an idiot, Lauren!" her father shouted back, putting an arm around her shoulders and steering her rapidly into the kitchen. "Meyers wasn't going to assault you- he just misunderstood your politeness. He thought you were interested and-"

An enraged Beatriz burst into a rapid fire round of Portuguese and Frank finally shouted over her. 

"Is that what you want, Lauren? Imagine what this is going to do for the company's reputation!" Frank's hands were waving wildly, as if trying to grasp some sort of persuasive argument out of midair that would make his daughter stop crying. "I'll just get a quote ready for the 'Wall Street Journal' when they call asking about the rape culture at Atlantic Equities! Your grandfather's company, Lauren!  To make your mother go through something like this while she's battling cancer? Really? Do you know what this will DO to her?" He was loosening his tie while he yelled at his daughter. "You know how sick she is- what the chemo is doing to her. How do you think she'll handle THIS?" He whirled and glared at the housekeeper, who still had an arm around Lauren. "We'll take care of this. You go home." When it looked like Beatriz would argue with him, Frank blustered, "I'm her father! I'll handle this!"

_____________________________________

 

When Thomas got home early the next morning, Lauren was cycling through the worst part of the attack again, feeling the man's disgusting hands, his fingers trying to get past her jeans and yanking her hair. "Don't touch- you get off- it- MOM!"

Lauren screamed for a moment as she felt hands try to hold her flailing ones and then she heard her husband's beautiful, soothing voice in her ear. "Shhh, darling. I have you. Shhh... you're safe. I'm here." Thomas heard the words come out of his mouth and wondered at how alien they sounded. Soothing a terrified girl and promising her safety was not his forte, but this was his Lauren, and when she stilled, he wrapped her in his arms and rocked her back and forth, whispering calm assurances and humming gently. When she could sit up, he went to the master bath and fetched her a glass of water, wiping her wet face with a warm washcloth. Settling her back on his lap and stretching out on the bed, still in his suit, Thomas ran his hand up and down her arm until she could talk again. 

"Thanks, Thomas. I'm okay now, sorry. Just a nightmare." She smiled anxiously, trying to disarm him. It didn't work.

His eyes were still the color of the frozen sea as Thomas said calmly. "Tell me what Steve Meyers did to you."

"I-" Lauren's mouth gaped open like a fish, trying to think of what to say.

"He hurt you. This is clear. Tell me what happened, Lauren. Don't be afraid."

So, she did, finally looking down at her empty water glass and feeling sick again.

Her husband was silent for a moment. "Frank did not call the police and press charges?"

Lauren laughed bitterly, a harsh sound he'd never heard from her before. "No. He told me he'd fire him and make sure he didn't work in the industry ever again. Frank said..." she angrily pushed back her blonde curls, feeling so incredibly stupid. "Frank said it would kill my mom to think I'd almost been raped and that we had to protect her. That I'd never see Meyers again and he'd take care of it so that Mom wouldn't have the stress. So, I agreed." Clutching the glass so that Thomas removed it, worried she'd crack it and cut herself, Lauren shook her head. "He never fired him. Did he?"

Thomas's voice was emotionless, each word perfectly shaped and enunciated like shards of glass. "Meyers is Vice President of the company's South American division. He's been in the position for nearly five years."

Laughing a bit before she started to cry, Lauren gasped, "That would actually be a promotion, you know. In the company? A step up. Frank never fired him, he just moved him out of New York so I wouldn't see him again." Looking over at her husband's utterly still face, she started shaking. "Thomas, he's a monster but- you can't kill him. Please don't kill him. I can't have that on my conscience." Watching him as he took in a deep breath and let it out, Lauren knew that was exactly what he planned to do.

"Sweetheart, has it occured to you that you are not the first- or the last girl he's hurt?" Thomas ran the back of his hand down her cheek. "Can your conscience bear it if he does this to someone else?"

"That's not fair Thomas! You're-" Lauren leaned back as his beautiful face darkened. "I mean, couldn't you just fire him? Ruin his reputation like Frank said he would? Killing him... I..."

Thomas took another deep breath, setting her down on the mattress gently and rising to remove his jacket and tie. "If that is what you want, I'll do so." Before she could thank him, he added, "Just after I beat him halfway to death. I will make quite certain he never touches another girl." He looked down at his wide-eyed wife. "It is the least he deserves, and don't pretend to yourself that you don't know that." 

When he returned to bed, naked except for a pair of silk boxers, Lauren wondered if Thomas would attempt to soothe her the way he had so many times before, with his mouth, hands and his cock. But instead, her mysterious spouse simply gathered her back in his arms and asked, "Can you sleep now?" At her nod, he tucked her head under his chin and rubbed her back until he heard her soft breathing. But Number Two in Jaguar Holdings didn't sleep for several hours later, watching the shadows from the trees outside moving on the white ceiling of their bedroom.

 

 

 

"Saia do porco!" - Portuguese for "Get away from her, you pig!"

"Eu deveria cortar seu pauzinho!" - Portuguese for "I should cut your tiny dick off!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *show of hands* Who thinks Thomas is really going to just give Meyers a pink slip and a stern talking to?
> 
> This is so important: if someone has forced you to perform a sexual act against your will- even if they just attempted it- it is not your fault. You did nothing wrong and you deserve help and support. The Sexual Assault helpline here in the US is: 1-800-656-4673  
> In England, it is: https://rapecrisis.org.uk/get-help/  
> In Canada: https://sexualassaultsupport.ca/support/  
> In Australia: https://au.reachout.com/articles/sexual-assault-support  
> In Europe: https://www.rainn.org/international-sexual-assault-resources
> 
> And if I've missed where you live and you need support, please contact me privately on Tumblr and I will gladly help you find the right resources. ❤️


	34. I Fell In Love With The Wrong Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which justice is served.
> 
> Warning: graphic violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank so many of you for the conversation and comments on the last chapter. It changed my thinking on how this next step was taken, and I’m grateful for it. Thank you for making the story deeper and the characters more nuanced than I would have done on my own. I have the best Muses on A03. Truly.

_Our crest "The Cock of Arms" designed by the clever Archy 3001 from the inspiration of Candy_Flaps, who comforted Lauren by assuring her that there was "Some glorious cock on the horizon."_

 

 

The next two days were surreal for Lauren. She smiled and nodded and organized and directed, but all the while she wondered if Thomas had killed Meyers. At one particularly low moment, she wondered if he'd include her father in the execution. There were several other branches undergoing examination at the same time as Atlantic Equities, so she saw very little of her husband, who remained his polished, urbane self even as she anxiously examined his expression when he returned home. 

It was the third night when they were hosting a send-off for all the executives when she finally had her answer.

As fond as she was of Clara, the girl was driving her insane with her endless chatter about her wedding- a mere ten days away. "I just know Michael and I will be as happy as you and Thomas," Clara sighed with a dreamy smile as she sorted the guest list for the third time.

Lauren stilled, staring at the girl who was obliviously humming. But... she _was_ happy.  Equal parts terrified and aroused, but happy. Her life was not what she'd expected, but what she had with Thomas, how he treated her... Forcing her confusion away, Lauren forced a smile and nodded, "I know you will be Clara- you're so sweet- everyone loves you."

"Just as long as Michael does," Clara giggled, and her friend nodded a little too rapidly.

Despite Thomas’s promise to keep her from having to interact with Frank, Lauren was bracing herself for an appearance. He was still CEO of the company, right? Surely he’d be required to attend the biggest evening of the year for Atlantic Equities. But as the evening drew out, she realized her father was nowhere to be found.

“One of the most… inspiring elements of acquiring new businesses into the Corporation,” intoned Kingsley, “is watching them grow and flourish under our guidance.” Lauren’s gaze darted around the room, but not a single eye rolled. Everyone’s expressions were frozen into a look of polite attentiveness. Returning to watch Number One, her stomach rolled a little at his look of avuncular fondness as he gestured to one of the younger men in Atlantic Equities’ group of vice presidents. “David, come up here, won’t you?”

A huge grin stretched across the man’s face as he loped up to join Kingsley on the elegant set of stairs they were using as a spontaneous stage. He briskly shook the hand of his new lord and master, and Lauren shuddered a little, wondering if he had the slightest idea of what he was getting into.

“Are you cold?” Thomas whispered into her ear as his arm came around her, stroking the skin of her bare arm.

“Where’s Frank?” Lauren barely breathed, but she knew her husband heard her as his perpetual expression of urbane amusement didn’t even ripple.

“I told you that you did not have to see him, darling.”

Number One’s voice cut in at that moment, “Congratulations to the new CEO of Atlantic Equities, David Monson!” The overeager round of applause buried Lauren’s gasp as the new head of her grandfather’s company gave a triumphant little fist bump with an amused Number Three.

Thomas ignored the sensation of his wife’s body stiffening as if she’d received an electrical jolt. He noted with approval that Lauren’s smile stayed constant as she listened to Monson’s modest speech about “bringing more success to Jaguar Holding’s already sterling record,” and clapping mechanically afterward. 

 

Was it possible to actually wear a path in her husband’s antique oriental rugs?

Lauren wondered this as she continued the triangle of steps she could by now walk blindfolded. It was exactly fifty steps to the big, leaded-glass windows. Fifteen steps to the fireplace. Thirty-five steps to the front entryway again. Thomas sent her home with Chuck again, and she’d politely asked her bodyguard to stay in the kitchen. She needed to pace, or she might start screaming, and that would never do.

Fifteen steps to the fireplace. Was her father dead? Not that she viewed him as one any more, but saving his life was the reason she’d been forced to marry Thomas in the first place.

Fifty steps to the leaded-glass windows, looking out on the empty street. Did Thomas kill Frank himself? Did he use the gun or just order someone like Chuck to do it. Did he watch?

Thirty-five steps to the entryway. If Thomas killed her father, he’d broken his promise to her. Lauren’s feet stilled and she stood in the spacious entry, staring at her reflection in the mirror there. The fact that her husband had broken his promise hurt even more than the thought that he’d murdered her father. What had she turned into?

 

Chuck eventually couldn't bear his charge's obsessive pacing and forced her to go upstairs and attempt to get some sleep. At around 2am, she could hear the front door open and the low tones of conversation between the two men before Chuck left and her husband's steps sounded on the wooden stairway. There was a low sigh as he stood in front of the bed.

"I know you're awake, darling. Sit up."

Lauren's teeth gritted against the screams she wanted to let out, the hysterical, terrified questions. Carefully sitting up and putting her pillows behind her back, she looked at Thomas. He was unfairly beautiful, even at the late hour and a spray of stubble across his lean cheeks, tie loosened and hair cautiously beginning to wave from his strict style. He looked at her levelly, waiting for her to ask the question. But when Lauren spoke, it wasn't what he expected.

"You broke your promise to me." 

One dark brow rose, but Thomas shook his head. “I did not.”

The Second in Command at Jaguar Holdings was speaking truthfully. He did not kill Frank. Nor did he kill Steve Meyers, though it took more self control than he’d expected. Frank killed Meyers.

 

———————————————-

 

”Here.” Pine turned and handed his gun to the man cowering in the corner of the room, who’d been sniveling and whimpering since he’d been dragged in. 

“W- WHAT?” blubbered Frank Marsh, CEO of Atlantic Equities, “Why are you handing me a GUN? What the hell is going on here? What the-“

Sighing, Thomas crisply slapped his father in law across the face, enjoying the older man’s squawk. “You’re going to shoot and kill the man who attempted to rape your daughter-“ he stopped for a moment, taking in a deep breath and trying to control his fury. “-and my wife. You do remember, don’t you, Frank? Your 17 year old daughter crying in the hallway when you came home? Her face on fire from being hit repeatedly by this filth?” There was a barely audible growl from Chuck, standing behind the bloody lump tied to the chair. He took a fistful of the man’s hair and yanked his face up.

”Fra...” Meyers’s mouthful of broken teeth didn’t allow for more precise speech, and Thomas flexed his fists, knuckles bloody from beating the man into a pulp. He’d actually offered Meyers the opportunity to defend himself, Thomas removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves while the man put his hands up, waving them like a flag of surrender. But when he refused to defend himself, cowering and wailing, Thomas beat him soundly, enjoying the crunching noise of ribs breaking. And then he stepped back. Courteously inclining his head to a stone-faced Chuck, “Would you like to continue, Straker? I have meetings this afternoon and this scum has much to atone for.”

When Lauren’s bodyguard finally spoke, his tone was raspy. ”It would be my pleasure, Mr Pine.” And so Thomas straightened his tie and smiled slightly at the first howl of agony as the man started his work.

But now, it was several hours later and Thomas was checking his stainless steel Phillipe Patel watch, Chuck needed to be getting back to Lauren and he had one more subsidiary meeting before the closing cocktail party that evening. He held the gun out to the ashen-faced Frank again. “You can’t redeem yourself for being the most worthless father alive, and believe me-“ Thomas chuckled, “I’ve seen some rather impressive candidates for the title. But I promised my… my wife that I wouldn’t kill her would-be rapist. She didn’t want his death on her conscience, no matter what he’d done to her.” His attention turned to the mangled lump that used to be Steve Meyers, Vice President of the company’s South American division. “But you had to have known he wouldn’t stop.” Leaning in to stare at Meyers’ ruined face, Thomas smiled slightly. “So it’s time to put you down. Like a dog. And you-“ he strode over to the terrified Frank and slapped the pistol into his hand. “You will finish him, since you are responsible for all the women he raped when you promoted him and gave him free reign.”

“I c- can’t do that!” stuttered Frank, “I’m no killer!” 

“Ah…” purred Thomas, “but you are quite capable of embezzlement, aren’t you? Did you think being my-“ he made a noise of disgust, “-being my father in law gave you immunity? You’ve stolen over eleven million dollars from Atlantic Equities in the last two years, most of it after I married Lauren. You must have felt quite confident about your safety. This was one of many mistakes. Now,” he cruelly tightened Franks fingers around the grip of the gun, “you will shoot this ex-employee. You will announce your retirement from the position of CEO, the money you’ve stolen has been returned to the company.” Thomas’s jaw clenched. “Fassel was the one who tracked down where you’d attempted to hide it. As your direct supervisor, I was required to repay the five million you’d already gambled away, you bloody idiot. Your assets have been liquidated and you will now live on a fixed income with a caretaker to keep you from fucking up again and requiring me to kill you.” Thomas seized his father in law by the scruff of his neck, hauling him up and over to the sobbing Meyers. “Let me be clear,” Thomas hissed into Frank’s ear. “It is him, or you. But one of you leaves this room as a corpse.”

The first shot was off, striking Meyers in the neck and making him scream shrilly. With a sigh, Chuck gripped his hand over Frank’s, smiling as he heard a finger crunch and the next shot was through the left eye.

 

————————————————————

 

And now here he was, looking into the wet lavender gaze of his wife. “I did not kill Meyers. I did not kill your father. Frank is alive, though a little unwell at the moment.” Thomas chuckled unrepentantly at the memory of Meyers’ blood spattered all over a shrieking Frank’s face and expensive suit. Looking back at Lauren, he watched her begin to curl into herself. “Darling- Lauren,” he began to unbutton his starched white shirt. “You asked me about the scar on my back.” Her head snapped back up, eyes wide.

”Yes?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

”There was a vile piece of shit at Eton- my public school years- it was an all-boys school, but it didn’t stop this bastard from harassing every girl within a 25 kilometer radius of the school. He... there was a 19 year old girl who worked in housekeeping, her name was Sally.” Thomas paused for a moment, smoothing his hand over the back of his head. “She was very shy, easily cowed. He raped her. He bragged about it and she was fired. She needed that job- her mother had lung cancer and it was their only income. I beat the living hell out of him. Told him if he ever touched another girl, I’d kill him.” Lauren was utterly still, barely breathing as if afraid she’d distract him. “MacGowen didn’t like being made a fool of, everyone seeing him for what he was. So in the showers after soccer practice, he had four friends jump me. He stabbed me in the back repeatedly with a craft knife from the art department- fortunate, that,” Thomas said reflectively, “had it been a real knife I would have been paralyzed from the waist down, lost a kidney.”

”What-“ Lauren swallowed heavily. She would not cry, Thomas would never forgive it. “What happened to him? Did you press charges? Did the police-“

He cut her off, laughing harshly. “I was a scholarship student, darling. The Headmaster came to my hospital room and told me MacGowen’s parents would pay for any recovery expenses and the rest of my time there.”

Her full lips were thinned. “If you didn’t go to the police. So their precious boy didn’t get in trouble?”

Thomas nodded, pulling his shirt free from his trousers and unbuckling his belt. “Yes. I told him I would still hunt him down if he ever hurt another girl, but-“ he shook his head, “he was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland. I don’t...” He felt the cool, soft hand of his wife’s slide gently over his lower back, tracing the flex and pull of muscle there. She was stroking with her fingertips, gliding over smooth skin and ragged scar tissue. Then, her lips pressed to the scar and Thomas stood abruptly.

”Wait! Just... please stay.” Lauren’s sweet voice. That anxious, hopeful tone always weakened him, made him soft. “Thank you, Thomas. Thank you for telling me. Don’t go...” and then his wife was kneeling behind him, breasts pressed against his back and her mouth hot on his neck.

When he groaned and turned in an instant, flipping her back onto the bed, Lauren looked up at him, wide-eyed but still. He was kneeling over her, his tall form blocking the moonlight from the windows, his beautiful face in shadow. He was a dark angel, her husband, and Lauren cautiously raised her arms over her head, hands gripping the rails of the headboard. Thomas’s mouth was on a nipple, nudged harshly from her nightie and one hand gripping her wrists together while the other pushed up under the lace hem, yanking her panties down and off. Lauren stifled a yelp when two fingers pushed harshly inside her, feeling the rough pads of his fingertips push against her walls, stroking them. “So beautiful…” he mused, almost to himself as his mouth attacked her other breast. “So very sweet, aren’t you, little one?”

Lauren drew in a shaky breath, looking up at his eyes, blazing and pale like a winter sky. “Yes, Sir.”

Soon, her hands were tied behind her to the headboard, making her back arch as Thomas gripped her hips and lifted her, spreading her knees to straddle him. Her breasts were pushed up to his mouth in a most enticing way, and he mouthed at them harshly as he aligned his cock with her channel and began sliding up her in short strokes. He’d not been inside her since that night she’d told him about Meyers, and she was tight, tight as the virgin he’d taken those nine months ago. He could feel her clamp down on his cock, but his sweet wife’s slick was already flowing and helping him slide up her. Sliding his hands to her waist, Thomas began pushing her up and down on his marble hard shaft, trying to think if he should be less aggressive, but hearing Lauren already moan and gasp in that utterly enticing way told him she was ready, needy for him.

“God, being back inside this tender cunt…” his voice was deep, guttural and she shivered. “I could live inside you, buried here forever.” His lean hips circled and his wife’s back arched even harder as he thrust against every part of her satin insides, the fat head of his cock rubbing and pushing against her. His thumb gathered some of Lauren’s silky wetness and circled her clit, just a little harder than was comfortable, enjoying the corresponding hitch in her breath.

“Ah! Thomas- Sir- please, can I-“

Another vicious thrust inside her cut off Lauren’s plea, but her dark husband grinned. “Yes, sweetness? What do you need from your Sir?” But part of him knew it was what he needed to hear from her, needed to know that even after what happened to her, and what had happened to him his wife would still beg him to let her come.

“Please Sir,” Lauren was panting, lifting her heavy head to whisper in his ear, “harder, please. Please let me come.”

With a groan, Thomas began pistoning greedily up inside his bride, shoving his swollen cock as deep inside her as he could get, drawing almost all the way out to do it again until he bit her neck and growled, “It’s time, little one. Come now.”

And as he knew his good girl would, Lauren did, tightening up so hard against his wet shaft that she held him immobile inside her as she came with a startled, blissful shriek. And then his come boiled up and out of him, coating her channel and slicking along their thighs. Releasing her bound hands, Thomas wrapped her limp arms around his neck and rocked them back and forth, still pulsing inside her.

 

It wasn’t until he’d bathed her and stood patiently as Lauren carefully dried his wet skin and they were back in bed when she finally asked what he’d expected when he came home.

“Where is Frank?” her voice was small. “What did you…?”

Thomas rolled to his side, wrapping a hard thigh over hers and keeping her facing him. “Frank embezzled millions from the company,” he finally said, watching her eyes widen in horror. “He was allowed to retire and is now under supervision for…” he hesitated, “the foreseeable future.”

“I’m so sorry. Oh, god…”

It didn’t occur to him that Lauren would be horrified, humiliated. “It’s not your fault, you have nothing to apologize for. I made Frank offer recompense.” This time, his wife was still. Thomas knew she understood. “He killed Meyers.”

Lauren pressed her forehead into his chest and didn’t say another word.

 

Clara and Michael’s wedding was magnificent, of course, almost as spectacular as theirs had been. Thomas looked over at his wife, beautiful in silky layers of purple and blue that slid and moved along her thighs in a most distracting way.

Lauren took a sip of her champagne and smiled back at him. They’d never spoken again about that night. She didn’t want to know anything about Frank or where he was. Her heart and her conscience twinged when a glowing Clara came up to hug her. “I’m finally Mrs Michael Fassel,” she giggled a little bit. “This is everything I’ve ever dreamt of.”

Searching for the right thing to say, Lauren finally smiled and hugged her tightly. “May you always be as happy as you are today, sweetie.”

After the bride and groom’s first dance, Thomas was one of the first to step onto the dance floor, pulling his wife along. When she heard the first few lines of the sweet, sad tune, Lauren closed her eyes. Thomas would never know it, but this was now their song.

 

 _“And I think maybe I did it this time_  
_Fell in love with the wrong guy_  
_Oh, oh I should ignore it_  
_Oh, oh but I want it_  
_And I think maybe I did it this time_  
_Fell in love with the wrong guy_  
_Oh, oh I know we shouldn't_  
_Oh, oh but I want it_

 _Hear their silent glances like surround sound_  
_They've planned out our future breakdown_  
_So if I'm the queen of bad decisions_  
_Someone throw me a crown_

 

_Cause when you smile I forget to breathe_  
_I promise no one's this good at acting_  
_Let's live unscripted, don't let them write in_  
_All the bridges we'll be burning_

_If you don't play with fire_  
_You never learn_  
_Just how good it feels_  
_To get burned_

_Curtain call if we fall out, yeah_  
_No applause no need to bow..._

_But I think maybe_  
_I did it this time_  
_I fell in love with the right guy_  
_Oh, oh we are perfect_  
_Oh, oh it is worth it_  
_It is worth it...”_

 

______________________________________ 

 

 

 

Meanwhile in Lisbon, Portugal...

"Ei vovó, isso veio para você?"

Beatriz looked up from the bread she was kneading, smiling at her grandson, who was waving a manila envelope with official-looking stamps on it. "O que isso seria?" Opening it and pulling out what looked like a deed and a cheque, the woman let out a shriek/gasp/laugh and read the paperwork, the check falling to the floor.

Picking it up, her grandson said, "Vovó, este é um cheque de quinhentos mil euros!"

Beatriz seized the cheque from the boy, shaking her head, beginning to laugh helplessly. Then unfolding the note attached, she read:

_"Dear Mrs Almeida:_

_I want to thank you for the care and protection you extended to my wife, Lauren Marsh, now Lauren Pine. You are an admirable woman and will always be in our thoughts. This is the deed to your house and funds to add to creating a comfortable retirement. And my eternal gratitude._

_Best, Thomas Pine"_

 

 --------------------------------

 

Wrong Guy (I Did It This Time) - Whitney Wolanin

 

"Hey Grandma, this came for you?" Portuguese: "Ei vovó, isso veio para você?"

"O que isso seria?" - "What would this be?"

"Grandma this is a check for five hundred thousand Euros!" - "Vovó, este é um cheque de quinhentos mil euros!"


	35. This Merits Correction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lauren is punished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beloved misreall has started a new story- pirate Loki and ships that sail through the skies of the Nine Realms. It is so spectacular that I'm inches away from setting my laptop on fire with envy. Go! Read! You know it will be perfection: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123434

 

_Our crest "The Cock of Arms" designed by the clever Archy 3001 from the inspiration of Candy_Flaps, who comforted Lauren by assuring her that there was "Some glorious cock on the horizon."_

 

 

It was, Lauren thought sourly as if the wedding for Clara and Number Three rang some starting bell that put them on a collision course with the Moscow Clusterfuck (as she called it to herself- strictly to herself) because her time with Thomas shrank accordingly. Some nights he returned grim, others perversely pleased. Either mood could spark a trip to the Fun Dungeon, though the grim mood was certainly less "fun." But those nights were still accompanied by a cascade of orgasms, albeit harder won.

The highlight of her day was when Thomas could run with her in the mornings, pacing his ridiculously long legs to match her stride. Her need for him was becoming worrisome to her. When he was late, the little voice began cycling in her head again, thinking of torture, dismemberment, capture- though this time she feared these things for her husband, even though he insisted on appearing bulletproof.

Even more uncomfortable was her time with Arabella and Clara. The new Mrs. Fassel brimming over with happiness and joy, and Arabella with a hatred so fierce towards her husband that she almost crackled with it when he walked into the room. Number One's wife hadn't said anything more about who to trust since their iPad conversation in her living room, but Lauren caught her eyeing all three of the men who ran Jaguar Holdings with the same look of loathing. It worried Lauren terribly that her friend seemed no longer able to hide her true emotions in the way she'd always had- under that veneer of sophistication. 

"So you can see why it must be done," Thomas was saying and Lauren nodded without thinking.

"Of course," she agreed.

Her husband chuckled and she looked up, her cheeks already turning pink. "You haven't been paying attention darling," he teased gently. "I just suggested that you take a sledgehammer to your cello."

The girl gasped in horror, both at the image and the fact that she'd been so distracted in front of her sharp-eyed spouse. "I'm sorry," Lauren tried to smile, "I didn't mean to be such an airhead."

Thomas leaned back, one long finger absently rubbing over his lower lip as he watched her. "The question, darling," he said, "what is occupying you?" He continued to gaze at her as his wife's expressive face flushed and she shifted uncomfortably.

"I just..." with a sigh, Lauren gave in. She wasn't used to talking to her husband about her worries and fears, particularly because most of them were due to him. "I'm worried about Arabella," she confessed, "she has every reason to hate that bast- uh, Kingsley."  Thomas's eyes narrowed in amusement, but he said nothing, merely nodding at her to go on. "She doesn't seem to be able to control it, how she feels," Lauren tried to explain, "she so angry, and she should be! But..." The girl traced her fork through the crumbs on her plate. "I've never seen her not be able to keep it together, even when she's drunk. I'm worried she's going to snap and something terrible is going to happen." Lauren couldn't elaborate on what "the something" would be, they both knew what that "something" would likely be. A quick execution and disappearance under the guise of Arabella "taking a long vacation" perhaps, or "retiring to the country." Staring down at the table, she swallowed miserably. She didn't even know what to ask Thomas to do. He'd made it clear he wouldn't interfere with that sick son of a bitch who was head of his precious Jaguar Holdings.

Thomas stirred, his beautiful face pensive. "I've known Arabella for over a decade, darling. Since her... career in the Corporation brothel." He watched his wife's face as she simply nodded. He knew that she was aware of 'Bella's past. He admired her for not judging it. "This is the most serious mistake she's ever made. I do not know why she would make contact with Martinsson-"

"She didn't!" Lauren interrupted earnestly, "He was just there, and-" Her explanation broke off at his cold expression.

"Insisting on taking you there was not a mistake," Thomas said, his voice dipping to polar levels, "it was not a coincidence that Martinsson was there. There is a reason I have told you to distance yourself. I don't know what Bella is up to, but her actions thus far are foolhardy. But I believe she will regain her self-control. No matter what you think, she loves her position as Queen Bee." He watched as his wife drooped with sadness. "No matter what has happened to her darling, she will not let go of her place on the social scale. For this reason- if nothing else- I believe she'll pull herself together." He could tell Lauren didn't believe him, but she forced a smile and stood.

"I dropped by the Beau Boulangerie to pick up some of those chocolate eclairs you love," she picked up his dinner plate, and Thomas took her other hand, pulling her to a halt. 

"Let's bring those upstairs with us, shall we?" With a high-pitched noise, Lauren hurried to do as he'd suggested.

 

Her worries about her friend came to a head the next week at a charity planning meeting. Arabella was dressed superbly in an alarmingly expensive suit. She was at her majestic best, presiding over the meeting, but Lauren could tell something was wrong. Her friend was moving stiffly, favoring her right side. And when everyone had filed out of the cafe where they'd met, Arabella side-stepped a confused Clara to drag Lauren out the back door.

"Bella?" Lauren was half-trotting, trying to keep up with the older woman as they headed down the alley. "What are you doing, honey- we need to get back- Chuck will be looking for me and whoever that mountain of muscle is, who's following you around isn't going to be that happy, so-"

"Relax!" laughed Mrs. Ben Kingsley, "You're wound so tightly! Doesn't it feel good just to be free of everything for a minute?" There was a manic glint in her eyes as she looked back at Lauren teasingly, "Just for a moment, let's give them the slip."

She'd grown up in a city even larger than this one, but Lauren suddenly felt the buildings closing in on them as Arabella hauled her down a side street, looking behind them to see if they'd been followed. The girl's pulse sped faster, and she could feel sweat breaking out on her forehead, under her arms. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. There were many people who didn't like their husbands. Lots of people. Any of those people could be... "Bella, I don't like this," Lauren managed, "it isn't safe, you know that. And we're going to get into a lot of trouble when-"

"Just for a minute!" The woman's voice pitched high, and she squeezed the girl's hand harder. "Just for a minute so we can talk without those apes hanging over us, listening to every word. Please, Lauren? Just for a minute?"

Shaking her head despairingly, she let Arabella draw her into a little bar. As her friend downed one drink and asked for another, Lauren watched her in concern. "How are you, really? You're moving kind of funny. Has he hurt you again?"

Arabella gave a little chuckle, gurgling a bit as it mixed with her recent swallow of vodka. "Again?" She put down the glass and took a deep breath. "This can't go on. I've tried to live with _him_ \- with what this sick Corporation does- but it must stop. And we must make it happen." The light flashed off the huge diamond on her left hand as she took another gulp of her cocktail. 

Lauren's mouth dropped open. "Honey, you can't talk like this. It's nuts to even be saying this out loud. Let's go-"

"You're not listening TO ME!" Arabella drew in a breath as heads turned to look at them. "We can stop this, but I need you. There are people, friends who can help us, but-"

"No no no," Lauren shook her head, pulling away, "is this about the Grey Man, about-"

"Shhh!" hissed the other woman, "He's meeting us here in a moment, it's the only way we can talk safely."

Leaning in close, Lauren whispered furiously, "I can't believe you dragged me into this- you must be nuts, Arabella! Do you think that man gives a shit about you? I'm leaving and I don't want to ever talk to you about-"

"Mrs. Pine. It's time to go." Chuck's voice was emotionless as he stepped behind her.

Staring at his blank brown eyes, Lauren thought, "Oh, _fuck."_

 

Back to wearing holes in her husband's expensive oriental rugs, Lauren numbly counted her footsteps. Fifteen steps to the fireplace... He would never believe she wasn't in on whatever mess the unhinged Mrs. Kingsley was planning. She knew it looked terrible, sneaking off without Chuck and how he found them, how she was leaning over whispering like she was planning, plotting with her so-called former friend. Biting back a sob, the girl rubbed her hands over her bare arms. After everything he'd just done- Thomas thought he did it for her but it was for the Corporation, for him. But the controlled savagery of making her father kill her attacker... this would look like utter disloyalty after what he'd just done. Would he even believe she didn't know anything about it? That Arabella was throwing her under the bus? What would even make that woman even  _think_ she'd go in on this suicidal plan? Lauren might be new to the terrifying world she lived in, but she was very clear after numerous business dinners and Corporation cocktail parties that there were worse monsters than the one she was married to. Far worse. What would Thomas be like when he came home? What would... stifling her moan, Lauren counted. Thirty-five steps back to the hallway... 

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me before your punishment?"

Lauren whirled with a little embarrassing squeak. Thomas was standing in the entryway, she hadn't even heard him come in. Hands casually in his pockets, still looking as groomed and put-together as he had leaving the house that morning. "Thomas, I..." her mouth was so damn dry... wishing she had a gigantic glass of wine right now- no, a jug of wine- because it didn't seem like she could force the words out to explain to him that it was just a misunderstanding and that-

"Nothing, darling?" he bit the last word off as if it was distasteful.

"It wasn't my idea, I didn't plan it. Arabella just sort of dragged me out the back door of the restaurant and-"

In two long steps, her terrifying husband was looking down at her, his warm breath hitting her skin. "Dragged you. Did she drag you against your will, kicking and screaming? With no chance to alert Straker, who is there for your safety?" Thomas's voice rose into a sharp shout on the last word and Lauren tried to step away from him. One hand shot out and took her by the upper arm, long fingers wrapping around it as he turned towards the stairs, pulling her along. 

Thomas had been on fire with fury since Straker had called to alert him that Lauren had slipped his scrutiny and was out somewhere, unattended, with that blonde idiot Arabella. Who was concerned for no one’s safety but her own. The looks of suspicion and amusement from Numbers One and Three, staring at him as Kingsley also received a call to let him know his wife had slipped her chain. Fassel, that idiot had chuckled heartlessly. “Just got a call from my sweet girl. She’s so very worried about her two friends just-” the man had the gall to put up his hands with two fingers, wiggling them mockingly, “-disappearing. Fortunately, I can always count on Clara to do as she’s told.”

His grip tightened slightly as he felt Lauren stumble on the stair behind him, and Thomas lifted her up effortlessly, pulling her along to the third floor and bypassing their bedroom as he opened the door to the room that held so many options for discipline. He’d called out several employees to start the search until Straker had called back within five minutes. Of course, the tracker on his wife’s phone. And the one sewn into her messenger bag. So really, just 300 seconds of what Thomas realized had been bone-searing terror ripping through him. Three hundred seconds of wondering who’d kidnapped his Lauren and what they were doing to her. Three hundred seconds as he’d raced from the top floor of the office and down to his car to picture her lifeless eyes, her broken and bleeding body. And the 15-minute drive home to realize just how terrified he’d been. How weak. And how angry he was now. But Thomas refused to leave the Jaguar for another 20 minutes until he was sure he had his temper under control, and his rage at the panic he'd felt at the thought of Lauren gone.

“This merits correction. You can’t be surprised by this.”

She let out a sob, he could hear her voice waver as Lauren attempted to plead with him. "Thomas, please just-" the words were cut off as he flipped up the leather padded bench top of the long ottoman and lifted her swiftly, putting her inside the barred enclosure. 

"Bad girls do not receive the privilege of speaking. You will have to earn back your freedom, one step at a time." He saw the shock in her lavender eyes, her mouth open as he shut the top of the bench and locked it. Walking over to the armoire and pouring a drink from the bar there, Thomas counted down, waiting for her scream of outrage. 'Five... four... three... two... one...'

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ARE YOU INSANE? GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

Even though his eyes were a polar frost blue, Thomas's mouth quirked up on one side. 

The Corporation's Second in Command was reading a book and sipping from his scotch comfortably, legs feet propped up on the padded ottoman that contained his wife. He ignored her thrashing and kicking in the narrow enclosure and even grinned when her hands made it through the bars, trying to slap at his legs. This was actually the first time he had used the ottoman for this purpose, and Thomas was quite pleased with its functionality. His feet were comfortable on the leather covered bench and the bars were wide enough that he could see his wife and she could see him, even the space left very little wiggle room for her. He'd been enjoying the book, a series of essays by philosopher David Hume that he found in Lauren's stack of books on her side of their bed. He had a similar pile on his side as well and they often exchanged books to enjoy something the other had read to them. In fact, there had been several very pleasant winter nights when the fireplace was crackling and Lauren's head was on his lap, smiling as he read to her in his beautiful sonorous voice as his fingers idly combed through her hair. His smile disappeared and his jaw firmed. He'd been too lenient with this girl. Too soft. Telling her about his scar! "Thomas?" He turned a page, taking another sip. "Thomas?" she persisted, "How long are you keeping me in here?"

He knew she was listening carefully, there was utter silence beneath his propped feet, so she could hear another page in his book turn. "Each time you speak," he said calmly, "an additional hour will be added to your containment time."

As he expected, this set off another round of bar rattling and kicking at the bench's seat as she screamed at the top of her lungs, "This isn't my fault! I didn't run away! I wasn't plotting anything and Arabella-" 

With a sigh, Thomas moved his feet, lifting the lid and rapidly chaining his bride's wrists to the bars above her and her ankles to the bars at her feet. When she opened her mouth to scream at him again, he pointed a finger at her. "Take responsibility for your actions. You knew it wasn't safe. You ran off with Arabella like a child and put your life in danger. You terrified Straker, who has come to care for you like a daughter. You made yourself a target and a potential liability, just as she is- to Kingsley and Fassel. And you..." Thomas could feel his fury and his fear heating up again, and he took a deep breath. "And you have deeply disappointed me. You have lost my trust." Slamming the lid shut again, he gritted his teeth shut, wanting to shout at his foolish, irresponsible wife for terrifying him, furious that he _was_ terrified for her. He listened, waiting for her to plead with him again, writhe in her handcuffs like a demented eel. But Lauren was silent. Thomas stood, stretching a bit. “You have another hour in containment because of your outburst, as warned. I’m going downstairs to order dinner.”

“Wha-” the query shut off instantly as his footsteps slowed. With a dark smile, Thomas left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Lauren could not know, of course, that he monitored her on his phone, making sure she didn’t injure herself in her thrashing. Lauren started kicking at the bars the moment shut the door, setting off a furious string of profanity that made one brow rise in amusement. After idly examining some takeaway menus, he ordered something to be delivered in a couple of hours. Just enough time for the next step. 

There was no way to tell time in the goddamn fucking Fun Dungeon, Lauren thought, angrily kicking at the bars again. She hated that mean son of a bitch bastard! Locking her in this cage like a dog? That's right, she'd asked him during her first foray into this room if this was a cage for an animal. She stilled as the door finally opened. "There's my sweet pet. Have you been a good girl?" Thomas tilted his head to look through the bars of the bench. The girl was staring back at him, lips firmly pressed together. "Ah. You may speak now, darling. Choose your words carefully."

"May I please come out of here, Sir?" 

Good girl, Thomas thought, remembering the right words for her role in this room. "Are you prepared to take responsibility for your own actions?"

Her voice was a little strangled this time. "Yes, Sir."

"Very well." Flipping the lid of the ottoman up, he deftly unfastened the handcuffs around her wrists and ankles, holding his hand out to pull her from the box. Lauren's hands tightened on the edge of her cage, sitting up. He knew she didn't want to touch him, didn't want to accept help. So that clever mind was analyzing whether there would be a consequence for refusing his assistance. Just as Thomas was about to issue another punishment, she gingerly took his big, warm hand and rose to her feet. He held her elbow for a moment as she regained her balance and hastily stepped from the cage. Thomas moved to sit on the corner of the bed. He'd removed his jacket, and she watched apprehensively as he rolled up the sleeves of his pale blue shirt. "Come here." Lauren's brow furrowed and she looked at the door and then back to him. He wouldn't make her do something now, would he? When she hated him so much? Slowly moving to obey him, she stood between his spread legs. "Kneel." Staring at him, the girl could feel her insides turn to ice. This was a different Thomas, cold and withdrawn from her. There was still an alarming look of genial amusement on his face, but it was nothing she'd seen directed at her before. Maybe he showed this face to people he killed? Legs shaking from that thought, she knelt quickly and gracelessly. Pulling off his tie, Thomas held it in his hand, watching her gaze turn fearful, staring at it. "Look at me," he ordered. When Lauren obeyed, he put his other hand under her chin, lifting it. 

“What did you do today, pet?” Her lips tightened at the new nickname, but she answered.

“I left the restaurant without alerting Chuck. I made him worry.”

Thomas’s head tilted. “What else?”

A bitter tone crept into her speech, but Lauren remained composed. “I made you look bad in front of the rest of management. I put myself in danger for not sticking with Chuck.” She clenched her hands into fists in her lap, trying to stay composed. Her husband didn’t look angry, or disgusted or concerned. He just looked… indifferent. Slightly indulgent like she was a poodle begging for scraps.

“That’s not all, is it?” His deep voice was like granite.

“I…” horrified, Lauren could feel herself start to cry and tried to swallow the tears down. “I disappointed you. You don’t trust me anymore.”

Thomas nodded. “You will have to earn that back. One step at a time.” He could tell she was forcing down her tears and her resentment was poorly hidden. “Very well, let’s continue.” He patted his lap. “Lean over my legs.”

The look of furious shock on the girl’s face was almost comical. She knew this position, though she’d not had a punishment spanking since her first week here. “I…” her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as Lauren slowly got to her feet. She glanced at the door again, and Thomas mentally added it to her growing list of bad behavior.

Bending over his lap, she settled her hips into one long thigh as her breasts rested against the other. She closed her eyes as Thomas yanked her skirt off, and then her lace underwear. But then he briskly gathered her wrists together and bound them with his tie. It was tight against her skin and the position he used pushed her hands up between her shoulder blades. Trying to move them only hurt worse. “You have committed three major offenses today. You’ll receive 20 strikes for each offense.” Lauren sagged in horror? Sixty? He’d _never_ spanked her like that. And then the words she hated the most. “You will count each time I spank you and thank me for it.”

The first slap of his hand on her ass made Lauren give a shocked little shriek. It hurt- so much more than any other- “OW!”

“You will count each one and thank me for it,” her monstrous husband’s voice was implacable.

“O-one,” Lauren gasped, “thank you, Sir.”

By the 17th slap, her ass was already a glowing red and Thomas showed no signs of slowing down. By the 25th, Lauren was sobbing. Suddenly his equally crimson palm was lifted in front of her face. “This won’t do,” he said, “ah, I know…” The girl started crying harder when he slipped his leather driving gloves on.

“Ah! God, ple- twenty-six, S- sir,” she hiccuped. By the 50th slap, the lower half of her body was a medley of purples, reds and searing pink. Lauren wasn’t capable of counting anymore, so Thomas took over for her. She wasn’t crying anymore when he finished, her body limp over his lap.

Untying her wrists, Thomas spoke, "You think this was a cruel punishment. You have no idea- NO idea-" he yanked her upright on his lap, ignoring her pained yelp as her brutalized skin met his hard thigh. "No idea what would be done to you if the wrong person found you. Do you think that piece of shite Martinsson would help you?" He felt her stiffen and his suspicions were confirmed.

"That's who-" Lauren painfully cleared her throat, "that's who Arabella was trying to meet."

"Yes," Thomas agreed, then slipped her underwear and skirt back on. The lace was acutely painful against her ass, and she moaned in protest. 

"Can I please have some of the lotion, the-" Lauren began.

"No," was all he said before standing. "Come downstairs, it's time for dinner."

 

Lauren nearly started crying again when it was clear her husband expected her to sit on one of the wooden kitchen chairs. She thought of asking for a pillow, but if he said "no" to cooling cream, she wasn't going to set herself up to be denied again. The food tasted like ash in her mouth, but the girl mechanically ate the amount she thought would be enough to keep him from ordering her to eat more. The room was silent, Thomas ate quickly, efficiently while Lauren moved very carefully from one hip to another, trying to find a resting spot that didn't torment her blistered ass. When he was finished, the man leaned back and looked her over. 

"Go upstairs and take a cool bath. I'll be up shortly."

Grateful for the noise of the water, Lauren dissolved into tears again in the privacy of the bathroom. She _hated_ him. She hated Thomas so fucking much. She wouldn’t be in danger if _he_ hadn’t placed her in it. Then he had to drag Chuck into it, which really was awful and made her feel terrible, especially since her husband had said: “You terrified Straker, who has come to care for you like a daughter.” Did he? Did Chuck really care about her like that? God, he didn’t get in trouble because of this, did he? “Oh, shit…” she whispered. Lauren could totally see the Corporation having some kind of scary-ass consequence for something like this. Thomas walked in as she floated in the tub, tears running down her red cheeks. “Did you hurt Chuck?” she burst out, “You didn’t do- it was my fault, not his! He wouldn’t expect me to run off, I’ve never done that he wouldn’t expect it this isn’t his fault please don’t-”

Pleased that his wife was finally beginning to understand the seriousness of her actions, Thomas put up a hand to stop her anxious flow of words. “I did not. Had he truly lost you, he would have been killed for his stupidity.” Watching her fresh flow of tears for a moment, the man finally walked over, kneeling beside the tub and his sobbing wife. “There now,” his voice could not have been smoother, more soothing, “no more tears.” Taking the washcloth, he liberally soaped every inch of her front, gently wiping her face free of tears and makeup. Tapping her hip, he directed her to turn over.

The sudden anxiety in her pretty face almost made him smile malevolently. “I can do the rest?” Lauren started, before realizing her plea was useless. Turning over gingerly, she rested her arms on the side of the tub.

The sight made him hard almost instantly, and Thomas suppressed a growl. Her wet back gleamed in the soft light of the bathroom, spine slightly arched and those frail shoulder blades angling up like wings. Her ass rose from the white foam of the bubble bath, a satisfying mix of colors that made it clear she wouldn’t be sitting on it for a week. Pouring a fragrant body wash on her back, Thomas watched it slide and shine along her skin. Dribbling more over the wet globes of her ass, he heard her breath coming a little faster as his long fingers slipped gently between her legs. “Beautiful,” he murmured, “your glistening cunt, so soft. Tender lips swollen…” he watched her head shake. “Don’t move,” Thomas warned, stroking her center and dipping in and out of her channel, lightly, teasingly.

Lauren wanted to cry again. She hated Thomas right now. She didn’t want him to touch her, her bottom was still on fire. But she would feel herself eagerly moisten as if her pussy had completely forgotten what her ass and thighs had just been through. “Oh, god,” she choked out, feeling two long fingers invade her and press gently against the front her pelvis. His wide thumb split her inner lips, passing over the sensitive skin before very gently stroking over her clitoris. Her hips jerked forward a little without her having any control over it, and his hand stopped.

Fingers finally stroking in and out of her channel again, her demonic husband murmured in his most lush, mesmerizing tone. “The endorphins released through orgasm have excellent pain reduction properties,” he said. “Each little wave and pulse of your cunt as you come… helping soothe and reduce the pain elsewhere in the body.”

That was it, Lauren thought blearily, she could forgive herself for coming on this monster’s skilled fingers because it would reduce the pain in her miserably bruised bottom. She could live with that… her head dropped to her crossed arms on the tub, ass unconsciously pushing towards the long fingers of the man who’d made her marry him. None of this was her choice, anyway… Lauren could feel his hard fingers twist and stroke along her tightening walls, that damnable thumb still very, very lightly batting her swollen clit back and forth. If he just pushed a little harder with his thumb, she could come, she’d feel so much better and…

And his hand withdrew from between her legs, lightly rinsing his fingers in the bathwater. “You will not touch yourself. You will not make yourself come.” He was towering over her now, that cold expression back on his face as he dried his hands. “I will know, and your punishment will be twice what you experienced today. You’ll come by my hand, or not at all. Do you understand?”

Still reeling from the loss of the only thing that could make her miserable body feel better, Lauren gritted her teeth. “Yes, Sir,” she finally forced out. Thomas nodded once and left the room, leaving her to huddle in the now-chilly bathwater.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's mean. But personally, I get really, REALLY mean or angry when I've been scared shitless. Which is pretty much the only characteristic Thomas and I share, sadly. I'm still not sure if Lauren's playing the victim or she's finally understanding the seriousness of what happened. Which is probably troubling, since I wrote this... you'd think my opinion would be more decisive?


End file.
